


This is War, An Augmented Dominion War

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Biological Warfare, Biological Weapons, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Other, See also this is War, War, child endangerment, questionable moral decisions, some characters are going to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 67
Words: 49,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: Trelane adjusted the channel. He could control the vertical and the horizontal. Really, he's just watching.While the crew of the Bakerstreet were focused on personal concerns, the long building war with Dominion crashes over them with consequences everyone. The Breen, watching from the sidelines, make their move.





	1. Omniscient, Omnipotent POV - Still Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> Also, please pay attention to the tags.
> 
>  
> 
> Based off the movie, the later seasons of Star Trek: DS9.  
> If there are quotes, they are from there. If I have failed to attribute, let me know and I'll add it here.

"We create the peace that follows through the wars we fight."

John knows Sherlock will critique any failure to accurately attribute. He looks for the exact quote, but can't quite find it. He thinks it's from "On Indirect Strategy" by Sir. Basil Liddell Hart, who survived the Great War only to have his strategy books read more by the Third Reich than by the Home Office. He writes it down before...

Trelane knows that's out of order, but sometimes he just needs to go far past the end to settle himself for the parts in between. There are so many sad parts.

Euros will tell him that's spoilers, but she's not there yet. When he peeked, he got scolded.

Trelane rewinds.

From the surging mass of the Great Link in which all Changelings are one, several Changelings steps onto the rocks. They are ready to bud. 

Every Changeling is the same. They're all a part of the Great Link. A part of one who is many. The same all the way back to the first Changeling.

The Changelings assume the shape of a bird. Flies and then float into the stratosphere, and finally swim into space. No one other than a Changeling is given to know the place where they merge in an endless sea. So they fly in space in the shape of creatures born to space.

One of the Changelings feels cool and hot in the void.

They come to the location. There's a ship waiting. There's always a ship with a faithful Vorta. They engineered the Vorta to be faithful administrators of the Dominion. Clone the ones they like the best. Don't breed the ones with bad traits.

The Jem Hadar to fight the wars. The Vorta to administrate the peace that follows. To manage the next war as they make the universe safe by controlling it.

That's what that one of the nameless Changelings is thinking as the urge to bud rises. Bits part. Less than a gram each. They put those bits into small containers. Seal them up to give shape to what is within as they grow. Until they are ready to burst free. Picks a direction and has the ship fire them into the void. It's the Changeling way. To send their young to explore and return when they ready to share how they are different in the only way Changelings can become different. 

Experience. 

Several tumbling cylinders in space. The wormhole aliens open the portal between quadrants. They may as well be photobombing the story.

Watching the Changelings mature is slow. Trelane has time.

Trelane watches the moment one of the Changeling's returns. That one's a bit off. A bit of a sour taste in the Great Link. They send that one back to the Alpha Quadrant. Trelane watches the moment that Changeling kills Jim Moriarty and becomes him. 

The sour taste the Changelings didn't recognize was chaos.

Moriarty is good at chaos. At creating the war that follows peace. Tricking the head of the Cardassian's super secret spy organization to lead an attack on the Changeling homeworld. Snap. They're not there. All forces lost. Which without their spies to keep them in power, there was the Cardassian government fell to a coup. Poke, poke from the Changelings and the Klingons went to war with the Cardassians. The Cardassians turned to the Dominion for help. The Klingons turned to the Federation, as if they hadn't just shared a brief war between friends.

Trelane wasn't really all that into the battle parts of wars. 

He liked the parts with people.

Moriarty laying the seeds of, "Shouldn't someone check to see if Khan Brittanus is where we left him," is Euros' idea. She thinks Sherlock need a friend. An enemy. 

Trelane watches himself in the narrative. Watches his own hello and Euros' reaction.

Looks away. He's not supposed to wallow. He's cheering himself up with something sad. Something coming together. Something falling apart.

Moriarty making everyone forget who were while the other Changelings - there is more than one after all on the task of taking over the Alpha Quadrant - reap the benefits of Starfleet recalling every Augment in Starfleet to find one Human with as it happens an alliance with the Human they were trying to find. Fans the embers of a rage - a plan - that would never had leapt into fire without a spark.

Telane flips back to remind himself how all that started. He doesn't need to: he knows. But he can, so he does.

Nine and a half month weary, 193848R92349 sweaty screams and with a final push gives birth to the sole child to survive that pregnancy. To survive any of the pregnancies they have been forced to endure by design. By scientists wanting to breed super soldier spies.

A scientist catches it. Slaps it to let it understand the world it's in. Covered in blood and mucus, the child screams. The child's rapist-scientist-father assigns a number to a wail of flesh that 193848R92349 already loves with all their being. An equal weight to their hate for their creators. A special place in the fire of that hate for their child's father, Doctor Saxon, but really, they'll share it with all Betas. Show them all.

Before biology catches up. 

Heat yowls. 

Trelane looks away.

Administrator Brown says, "Doctor Saxon, I approved the previous instance of your frankly unprofessional behavior to determine if your theory was correct, but I've already decided to sterilize this lot. I'm not happy with this particular mix of genetics. Our sponsors are more than happy to use child killers, but children who…."

"What are you watching, Q?" says Mother, who knows. She wishes he'd watch the growth of galaxies. That's soothing.

"It's historical. Nature," says Trelane, changing the narrative point.

Elise Watson breathes and pushes like they taught her in the class. She hold onto her husband's hand. Grips it tight. After so many failures, so much heartache, this is happening. Push. Harry. Push. John. Push. Afterbirth, because there's always a mess after the birth. Epidural suppressor shot. So she can hold her beautiful babies. She says, "Aren't they perfect Karidian." He agrees. She's thinking that Doctor on Corindinium was a blessing. He'd promised if she'd put herself in his hands, he could fix what was causing her miscarriages and he'd done it. Two beautiful babies. True twins even. 

She's less sure of the blessing when John and Harry are so sick growing up. Catching every cold and fever that the rest of their family shrug off. When John starts acting out in his teens. Not just the running around, but violent outbursts. Lack of control. She blames herself. Blames herself as Harry gets so distant. When Karidian dies. When Harry breaks. Elise blames herself and yet, she can't help hope for something better. She's an artist. She has to dream. 

She doesn't know just what that doctor changed. Neither does the doctor. Creating a vaccine for a disease you don't know is there isn't something anyone expects to do.  

Trelane smiles and wriggles. Checks in on that first moment when Doctor Bashir created a vaccine for the disease the Changelings created to slowly kill the Auberj. Realized he couldn't save the previous generation slowly dying, but that every child born was born disease free.

He smiles, but still Trelane changes channels. Flitting around. 

In some realities, when the Breen discover just where they were from, the Alignment in favor of letting fate decide wins out and the Breen send no one to Earth to help their ancestors survive. Since the Khans sleep an endless sleep until the power runs out, Trelane doesn't watch that reality for long and sends it only clouds of black butterflies to rain diamond tears.

This is why Trelane's been grounded. It's just so sad.

In some, the Alignment in favor of controlling fate win the war and they rescue every Augment on Earth to live out long lives far from the world that rejects them. Endlessly tinkering with themselves until they don't even consider themselves Human.  

This reality is also part of the reason Trelane's been grounded. 

He watches the reality where the Breen Doctors Tova and Mera, heart sore at seeing their daughter, Belfa, forced by biology to become an adult too soon, design a virus that changes her genetic makeup. Ensures no child will go through early heat before they're ready to handle it. If anyone can be said to be ready. 

While in the 6th Alignment, with all the blessing of her superiors, Doctor Roriah designs a retro-virus that will make the Breen more like what they believe the first Augments to have been. The plan to deliver it is simple. Venereal contact in a species that loves to scent. To touch. To love. 

When they two viruses meet, they make something new. Unexpected. The only reason the Breen don't die off because they are very clever. But they touch a lot less. Seal themselves up in their armor. Like canisters tumbling in the void.

In the reality Trelane is watching, loves to watch, a generation later, some Breen take of their armor. Got to Earth to try and save their people. 

It's a nudge. A truce between doing nothing, and changing everything. Some realities, like the ones where the Khans formed a new Khanate, there was no team. 

But this is the reality with a team. That one by one fell before the horrors of a world at war. Until there was only one. 

Ti-Lia arches her back as her lover for the night kisses the stump where her left arm once was. If she were among her people, her alignment would have made sure that her prosthetic either perfectly matched her original arm or was so ridiculously bizarre that it was a fashion statement. 

Here on a primitive world on a mission to save create the future of her race, she gets a bare piece of metal ending in crab claws. Or a hook. 

Anthea thinks the hook is funny and calls her captain. Mycroft smiles coolly as if he knows. Ti-Lia suspects this a trick to get her to confess, or she's given away she was born on another world. It could be either one.

Tonight's lover likes the freedom the claw helped bring. Another dozen Augments freed from Colonel Green's death camps. Liked it enough to tangle lips and dicks and cunts and sweat for a night with a stranger. A middle finger to all the death mongers of the world as they take turns mingling.

Not that life will come of this tangling of limbs. Ti-Lia will never go into heat. Never trigger a rut. As Ti-Lia knows, the scientists back home haven't figured how to untangle the 1st and 6th Alignments' massive merge of a fuckup. As far as she knows, she can't have children without five scientists, a petri dish, a massive machine, and even then they don't all take. She never wants to have children. She wants to feel alive. To have a life of adventure. Also, she never wanted to take the classes. 

She tugs at her lover's shaved skull and doesn't care. Ti-Lia was born in a machine, and sex is for push and pull and nothing more. It doesn't even occur to her that she's creating something as she spends her release in Tiwr, Grendel's last surviving son. While Grendel sleeps in a pod in a tin can of a spaceship flying through space, not even dreaming, Tiwr's highly efficient immune system does something to that virus no scientist ever intended. Ti-Lia's legacy on Earth.

But she's not thinking of that as she kisses her lover of the night's sweat streaked face. 

Tiwr doesn't think of that when he makes love. Has children, who grow up to make love and have or don't have children of their own. Not even realizing they are passing on something no one realizes is there.

Overall, the Breen consider the whole thing a mixed success. Once they figure out what's going on. 

After all, Brittanus isn't the first one to think of making off with a ship full of Augments trying to get away from the prejudices of Earth. There's a reality where Kodos never made it to that colony of his.

"Q, what are you watching?" asks his mother who knows perfectly well.

"Nothing," says Trelane switching to a wedding.

Trelane dabs at his eyes. Such as it may be said that he has eyes.

Vi Farnham ne Smith still wearing her ivory wedding dress with all its lace and beads does the rounds at the reception. Gets to the table where she carefully ensured that Violet Hunter would be sitting with five differently interesting crewmen from her current berth on the Agamemnon, a Galaxy class ship. The big leagues. "So, how we all getting on?"

Violet's expression is flat. She's had a trying three hours with the self-important crew that Vi sat her with. "Vi… I… it's all good."

Violet had not been a bridesmaid. Had the wedding been five years before, she'd have been Maid of Honor.

As it is, she watches someone who used to be her best friend get married. Catches the bouquet easily. 

Trelane fast forwards to Violet sharing the moment with Julian. How she replays the events edited with Julian sitting next to her at Vi's wedding. He leans over and asks, "Would you rather be a bridesmaid? A bride?" It's as close as he comes to asking if she wants to get married.

Julian has no legal status. Is merely light and algorithms. She says, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"Q," says his father. "How can you enjoy watching it like that?"

"You don't understand me," declares Trelane. 

It's true. 

Trelane tries to understand.

Rewatches John and Sherlock's wedding a few times. He can be every him to attend the wedding. But he's grounded.

He switches around a few times.

Grendel sits down heavily in a chair in a grand hall where all the survivors of the three ships may gather. Every living member of that first generation to escape the Earth and find the stars.

The Khans sits at the head of the table, naturally enough. Noonian says, "Well?"

Brittanus says nothing. They were involved in the research every step of the way. They know. Don't necessarily agree with the conclusions, but they know.

"I think we should discontinue the program," says Grendel. He's tired. He thinks he's lived a long time. The people he's killed weigh heavily on him. Mostly the first two. The janitor who was kind to them and brought them molasses cookies as children. The guard blowing on their coffee and not looking at the monitor. Snap. The bombs he dropped before they left. Pop on a screen.

The children he left behind when they fled. It's a recent wound. Over two hundred years and for him it's been less than a decade. He feels like it's been three hundred. The heart bleed of the failed attempts to begin again in the Breen's machines.

"How so?" says Brittanus. They think they've lived a long time. After years of failure, success on success. They believe in science. In their mastery of it. They've already come so far.

The infants in bassinets do not that think they have lived a long time. Little Mshindi Victorious screams and waves tiny imperious arms. Chin Singh is asleep. William Sherlock Scott tries to escape his prison. Again. 

Euros is in a separate facility and has had to be sedated. She can hear the world breathing.

Trelane is trying breathing. Rapt.

Mycroft II dutifully recovers William Sherlock Scott before he can get far. Looks to see if his mummy has noticed, but Brittanus' attention is all on everyone else but him.

Grendel says, "Not a single viable result when attempting to cross their genetics with our own." He changes the view. "Worse yet, lack of viability with every Breen we've tried."

"They have tried before," says Meiying, smiling at her children. What she perceives to be her part in success. Already plotting how to train her children to rule an empire. She's American made. She believes the future belongs to her. 

So she doesn't object when Melusine says, "Why do we need to have success? The Augments on Earth are our descendants." Her own children all died attempting to cross the sea to North America, but she doesn't know that. "We merely need to bring them here and show them all the advantages that can be theirs."

"We can gain great advantage with the Alignments if we reverse the effects of the Ti-Lia strain. That would allow the Breen population to increase rather than hold barely steady," says Noonian, by which he means if Brittanus determines a way to reverse the effects. Noonian is a statesman. A warrior. A father, who worries about Euros, who must be kept apart. Advantage is safety. He lost an empire once. He doesn’t intend to lose again.

Brittanus looks at little William Sherlock Scott, already attempting to escape his bassinet cage and does not share what they know. The advantage is already theirs. The price of their freedom is future loss and vows that will not happen. They have given, will give, William every advantage. Perhaps even a way to negate the virus itself, a strain of which lives in every Human. Except the Humans in that Great Room with the Roaring fire in the fireplace that's not real. 

Just a hologram. There had been a time when Trelane didn’t know the difference either.

Around them, the argument goes on. But Trelane has watched this part before. 

He switches around. 

He really isn't sure he wants to watch this part.

The Vorta begins, "Great Founder," 

"Call me Moriarty," says Moriarty, who has become fond of the him that he's become since embracing that he's an Alpha Quadrant sort of Changeling. That eggs need to be broken to create order.

Eventually.

Never maybe.

"Uh, yes, Moriarty Founder. We believe that the key to understanding the nature of the 1st Alignment virus is to trigger heat in the juvenile, who by virtue of time travel, and their age, is untainted by any variant of the retro-virus, original or Ti-Lia variant. 

Moriarty thinks if his allies weren't so sentimental about individuals, they could have worked this out already.

"Fine. Do it. Just don't let our allies know." Pauses. "What am I saying. These are my woobies. My extra special friends." He leans back in his chair. "Put it together and I'll do it myself. Nothing but hands on for my friends. Anyway," he grins assuming Grendel's shape, "I'm less likely to get caught than a purple alien."

The Vorta blinks at him. 

"You're the alien," says Moriarty.

"Yes, Founder. Moriarty Founder. Of course." The Vorta isn't capable of saying anything else to a Founder. She's an exemplary specimen of her breed. 

Trelane forwards past the painful bits. He likes Connor. Settles in to watch things in some sort of order.

He's seen it all before.


	2. Billy's POV

Connor exhaled, while Billy held his breath. Connor didn't say anything, looking as pale and sweaty as he had before the hypo injection.

In the end, one of the phalanx of ever changing doctors assigned to Connor's case was the one who broke the silence, "Connor, how do you feel?"

Connor gave a watery smile. "I just." He rubbed at the snot running from his nose, before awkwardly wiping the mucus onto his hospital bed. "It's just…" His smile was watery. Beautiful. Rational. Sweet. "I feel like me again. I can think again."

Billy didn't hold back his own tears. "I was so worried." He held Connor's hand below the restraints.

Since Connor's juvenile heat syndrome had burst into sudden bloom a few weeks after they'd arrived, Billy's life had revolved around caring for Connor.

Thankfully, keeping him segregated from any alphas on Beta Aurigae had been the simple part. Grandfather Grendel had taken care of everything. And if sometimes, Billy wished he was back on the Bakerstreet, rationally, he knew they couldn't have expended as many resources caring for Connor, who in between outbursts had been so worried that his friends would know. Judge him.

At least Connor had been safe. Not hiding in a war zone. No one had been hurt. At least there was that.

John had sent information for possible drug therapies as soon as his research reached that point, but the progression from getting the information to testing to human trials had been agonizing. The first two treatments had been failures. In the end, John had found the cure analyzing genetics from every member of his family descended from Anthea cross referenced with Connor and Billy's DNA.

Grandfather and Chin Singh had helped so much too.

At times it had seemed like the entire weight of the Breen Confederacy had been narrowed to a point working to help his son. Researchers. Doctors. Laboratories.

Still, Billy had been afraid to believe.

But when Connor lay back, no longer straining against the force bonds and said, "Mum. How are my friends? Could you tell them I'm feeling better? I don't want them to worry if they don't have to worry," Billy knew he could let go just a little.

Behind them, the doctors were murmuring. Billy paid no attention. He kissed Connor's forehead. Held his hand. "We'll contact them as soon as you're out. They know you have the same genetic condition that Doctor Watson has and that I have. That it's just uncomfortable," an understatement, "That it's made you a little under the weather. Do you remember me showing you their get well messages?"

"Sort of," said Connor. "It was all kind of fuzzy. Like I was seeing everything through a greasy viewport and all I could think about was… well…" he blushed, which given the things he'd been shouting was a relief. "You know."

"Yes, I know." Billy turned and faced the doctor squad. "When can Connor be released."

"We'll need to run some tests," said Doctor Imprid.

"And when will you be finished running tests?" asked Connor reasonably. Firmly. Connor was not going to stay in this sterile place a moment more than he needed to. He was going to sleep in a real bed that night with no restraints.

"A day at most," said Doctor Imprid. He was lying. His heart rate was up. There was a slight acrid tinge to his scent. At any time in the last year or so, Billy would have berated the doctor to stop lying to him. To stop acting as if Billy didn't know exactly what was involved with juvenile heat. He'd lived through it.

In a warzone.

Which made him think. Now that he had two seconds of thought to rub together.

Not a single one of all the Breen doctors in the last year had betrayed the slightest understanding of what it was like to go into heat, much less the overwhelming constant metabolic change of juvenile heat in a mind and body too young to deal with it.

He filed this observation away. Now was not the time.

Now was the time to say very firmly, "I want my son released into my care now." The doctors didn't move. He decided to call on relevant authorities. "He can receive the best of care in my grandfather's home."

Imprid's eyes flicked to something above Billy's shoulder. "Provided you come back in the morning. We will need to closely monitor Connor's condition. He's been through a great deal and we need to understand the effects of the therapy." His smile was insincere.

"Of course, now that Connor is better, we want to be able to apply the treatment to other children in the Breen Confederation." Billy smiled. His smile was sincere. Hudson had always told him the way to sell a smile was to think about the ways what he was saying was true and it was true that John would be able to help Augmented teens all over the Federation with this treatment.

The doctors were silent, unblinking for twelve seconds. Imprid said, "Of course. Which is why we need to understand and track his progress."

After that, Connor was released to transport home with Connor to Grandfather's home by the lake, which for the first time to Billy seemed very isolated rather than soothing. But then he'd never had a chance to see much of nature before what with the war and then living on a spaceship.

Still, he didn't have to try to keep his smile on his face while Connor changed into fresh clothing and sent each of his friends on the Bakerstreet a personal message telling them not to worry about him because he was feeling much better. He even thanked Eva for the sweater she'd knitted for him.

Billy watched his grandfather watch Connor bounce happily around the living room as if he hadn't tried to throw a chair through the window trying to get out. He watched his grandfather when Connor asked, "When can I start school again. I know became really behind and I want to catch up." There hadn't been time to start school after they'd arrived. Had been taking a break to get to know each other and then biology happened. "There were only a few kids on the Bakerstreet. Are there lots of children at the schools here? Do you think they'll like me?

Grandfather's doting smile was genuine. Rueful. "They'll love you. When the doctors think you won't have a relapse, I'll arrange for you to get into correct grade level. But it won't be much larger than what you're used to. There's only a little more than a hundred children in the Blue Zone School."

"But," blurted Connor, "this is a planet. There are lots of people here."

Billy couldn't have blurted like that. He'd grown too cautious. Hudson had told him this wasn't a bad thing. It could be a strength. Caution.

Grandfather sat down in the gold velvet chair that overlooked the wind capped bay below. His heart was beating a touch quickly. He glanced at Connor as he sat on the blue velvet couch opposite him. "We have had a very low rate of success convincing those we have brought here to consider having a new generation with their families. "

"You mean people don't like being kidnapped and turned into baby donors you mean," said Connor hotly. "Having their ability to choose where they want to live taken from them. Being told who to mix their genes with in a machine."

Grandfather laughed and Billy knew how he felt. It was a relief to hear Connor talk about choice and kidnapping rather than the kind of things he'd been saying for the last year. Grandfather said, "It would seem not. There are some that have accepted the opportunities we can give them, but most must be confined to the Red Zone after they reject our offer, which as the numbers grow is increasingly difficult to adequately maintain."

"You're their kidnappers," said Connor with the absolute moral conviction of a fourteen year old. "Of course, they don't think of you as family. Mum and I are the only ones that are closely related. Everyone else is," he shrugged, "like Doctor Watson."

"First cousin, thirteen times removed," said Grandfather, who had figured out before everything fell apart that the idea made Connor laugh.

"Doctor Watson is Mum's thirteen times nephew," giggled Connor. "Which isn't really all that related. Not really. You can't keep people here just because they've got some distant relationship with you. You can't. You need to let them go!"

It felt good to be able to sit next to Connor and say, "He's right you know."

"As I said, we are coming to that conclusion." Grandfather paused. "There has been so much occurring this last year, I hesitated to tell you, but the Khans have decided to discontinue our purchase of our grandchildren from third parties."

"Distantly related kidnappees," said Connor.

"That's wonderful," said Billy, who didn't feel that scoring a point was worth not focusing on the main objective. "But… won't they still be kidnapped?"

Grandfather's heartbeat was steady. His smile calm, but there was something off. "In due time, the Augments here will be given the option to be released. Our current plan has not reaped the increase in our population as we'd hoped." He looked at Connor. "When you do start school, you'll be meeting the children of those accepted a life here. As well as children of first generation Augments." His eyebrows quirked. "Four of them ranging from eight to seventeen." He tilted his head. "All the children the first generation of the 23rd Alignment has had in the last twenty years."

"Really! But," Connor trailed off. Perhaps not wanting to think about breeding after spending so many months focused on nothing but.

Grandfather said gently, "We first generation cannot produce children easily and even then, mechanical assistance was necessary." He looked away.

"Is that why didn't have any more children when you were unfrozen. Or did you miss mother and my aunts and uncles too much?" asked Billy. Feeling exposed to have asked the question. Wanting to retreat.

Grandfather was quiet for some time. Finally, he said, "I did try. I knew that my children were lost to me the moment the ship took off." He looked out at the warm blue capped water of the lake. The forested mountainsides. "I had been so fortunate in the children I had with Betas, I didn't understand how easy it had been. At a certain point, I did not have the heart to continue. To hope that bravely. I cannot imagine doing as the Khans did. Making thousands of attempts to reach success." His heart thudded a beat. He sent Billy a quick smile. "And aren't you glad, or Chin Singh would not be here today."

Billy hadn't had time to think about romance. Energy. Couldn't even see Chin Singh. He couldn't chance carrying even a trace of alpha pheromones on his skin when he went to visit Connor. Chin had been very understanding. Had stayed away. Running her endless errands for her parents.

Meanwhile, Connor was still pushing on. "If it was so easy with Betas then why didn't you try with," Connor stopped in mid-sentence. "Because you'd have had to kidnap them too. Because of who you are."

"As you say," said Grandfather. There was something he was hiding. So many things hidden here.

Connor slumped back in the soft couch. His brow wrinkling. "But the Breen are all…" he waved at grandfather and Billy, "like us. Augments. And you wouldn't have to kidnap them."

"The Breen have their own concerns, which it would seem we can neither resolve." Grandfather moved around the small table to sit next to Connor, something he couldn't have done for over a year. "Nor can they resolve our issues."

Connor leaned into Grandfather. "I'm glad you are doing the right thing."

"Yes, the right thing." Tentatively, Grandfather placed an arm around Connor and briefly squeezed. Connor was less tentative with his hug. Before bouncing off to re-explore parts of the house. Grandfather trailed him after him.

Leaving Billy alone to think. To rewind his memory to what the doctors had been talking about.

Doctor Imprid had said, "Would that our ancestors had thought to treat the symptoms rather than eliminating the cause."

Doctor Vardas had replied, "He and his mother provide a map reversing what they did. Provided our new ally can do as he says."

"There is always the first mother and their twin. His success shows we were right not to interfere."

Vardas shook his head. "Don't get me started. You 9th always…"

Then his own interruption.

Memories further back, conversations heard and unexamined with Connor the focus of his whole attention yielded much the same results. Whispered conversations the Breen perhaps did not realize he had the augmented hearing to hear. They were Breen. No one in the 23rd Alignment would have made that mistake. If Grandfather had been there, could have been there, he'd have told them to be quiet.

In the dark of the night by a still lake, Billy pulled out the communicator Hudson had given him. Tried not to feel like a traitor to Chin and Grandfather as he sent a compressed communication about what he'd learned. Wasn't even certain if it meant anything.


	3. Elim Garak's POV

Elim Garak could read the signs as well as any. Better it would seem than the current counsel running Cardassia getting into bed with the Dominion.

But then certain classes of his own people were used to using. Not being used.

Idly, over breakfast, Elim had asked Mycroft on one his flying visits, "Where do you think the Breen stand when the war with the Federation comes." He liked the occasional blunt question over quiche. A change in approach.

Mycroft's reaction was simply perfect. He didn't pause in buttering his toast. The lovely scratching glide of knife on hard surface. He didn't say anything so gauche as, "Why should there be a war?" He didn't pick a weak lie such as, "They'll do nothing. They are perfectly happy to keep their current borders." He buttered his toast and said, "Out of a deep affection for the people of Earth, they'll declare it and any place with Humans living therein, which as we know is everywhere,"

"Because Humans will reproduce," agreed Elim companionably.

"As you say, any such place where Humans reside will be a Breen protectorate, and they'll go to war with all and sundry." Mycroft made one of his infrequent silent laughs. This was such an outrageous lie that Elim let Mycroft brutally steal the last of the butter.

Really, the most likely thing was that like the Romulans, the Breen would set out the conflict and move in to take on the weakened victor. But Elim did appreciate that Mycroft was making an effort at some artistry to his lies.

That he even mixed it up. The next time Mycroft came for a visit, Elim was just heading out the door to meet with Captain Sisko about some clandestine work placing self-replicating mines at the entrance to the wormhole. Mycroft said, "I understand. You must cutoff the Dominion's supply lines." Although Elim had only mentioned a sartorial emergency. "Don't worry about the Breen coming into the war. They'll be dead in four generations from a self inflicted wound. What's the point of conquest if you won't be around to see it. Good luck on keeping the Dominion from standing on our graves."

All lies had an element of truth, so Elim filed it away. Proceeded to be a clandestine hand that Captain Sisko could deny existied. Not because Elim didn't love his people. Horrible, bigoted, blinkered idiots that they were, but he did love them. But really, if they couldn't see that the Dominion used everyone, then he'd have to make some choices.

Even to the point of cancelling his next assignation with Mycroft and never getting to hear what lie-truth Mycroft would have told him. Which was everyone's loss.

Because a well told lie made the universe a more palatable more place.


	4. John's POV

When the hate entity took over the ship, made everyone fight, and the only solution was love, which meant John went into heat, John told Sherlock, "Let's do this. Put some babies in me."

Afterwards, he surprised to find there were only five fertilized ovum. John would have expected given he hadn't been nuking his ovaries. Hadn't been in months.

Still, they were only trying for two. They put the Uterine Transporter over John's belly and let the algorithm pick.

They waited with excitement for the attachment.

A week passed. They had plenty of laughing intercourse to keep it from hurting.

Nothing hurt.

There was nothing. John told himself not to worry. This wasn't actually that unusual that the blastocysts failed to attach. Unusual for them, given John's near Normal healing rates, but not generally speaking.

They did have a few more chances at this.

They tried again. Beamed two back in to float their way down John's fallopian tubes. Still some laughter. Less. Tinged by worry.

The third time, one left for the attempt, they were almost desperate.

After that attempt failed, with Sherlock acting brittle and one step from explosion, John consulted with Julian. While he had done a considerable amount of research around issues of too much pregnancy, he didn't have Julian's database when it came to problems with conception.

Sherlock waited in John's office. Twisting and fidgeting in John's chair. Arms wrapped around his body, to keep his explosion in. John swallowed, because this was on him. Really it was. "So, um…," he fell back on his background. "As you know during the process of invasion or attachment, the villa from the blastocysts penetrate the uterine wall so that they can feed off the um… mother's. So they can feed. Ovum that cannot form this connection are reabsorbed by the body."

"Yes, I am aware of the science," said Sherlock sharply.

"And…"

"You're about to tell me that what you inaccurately refer to as heavy cruisers attack the lining of your uterine wall to help the ovum to attach. I know. I've known for years. I corrected the errors in your report."

John reminded himself not to get angry with Sherlock, because what had happened wasn't on Sherlock. It was all on John for waiting too long and yet he hadn't been ready before and yet… "Yeah, well, when implantation happens there's some small scarring on the uterine lining. Nothing serious. Cellular level stuff."

"You mean, my… they've been hurting you for…"

"No, no, no. I didn't mean that. Nothing like that." John took a seat to steady himself. So he wasn't looking down at Sherlock. He licked his lips. "I mean that every time, I've gotten," he could say the word, "pregnant there was microscopic scarring. Additionally for each successful implantation there was micro-chimeric transfer of genetic material from the um…" he cleared his throat of the frog taking up residence there and dashed at the water taking up space in his eyes, "blastocysts through my uterine wall." He laid down a tablet and spun it round so Sherlock could see the scan. "I'm a patchwork of genetics in the tissue around my reproductive system. You're in my lower intestine. Left kidney. Left ovary," he gave a sad smile. "Much of the lining of my endometrium is ah… noticeably denser and has highly regenerative qualities that even a heavy cruiser can't do anything about. The same is true for any ovum produced by my left ovary. They're just too dense to penetrate. That's why my um… fertilization rate was down too."

"But, when we travelled to the past… the other John was… ah no," Sherlock trailed off.

John said, "The other John didn't do an end run. He saw it through each time. Which overall were far fewer times than I have gone through. A lot fewer times. Although, it's likely that even his productivity at getting," he cleared his throat, "pregnant will taper off quite soon. While except for the one time in the," he cleared his throat again, "in the Breen past, I haven't gone to term. I've looked at my med scans. Really looked at them. After that time, there was considerable genetic transfer and then another pregnancy that um… I stopped at five weeks, which is um… the last time there was successful implantation."

Sherlock let go of the tablet. Wrapped himself around John. "We could go to my parents. There's still the technological option."

John blinked away more tears into Sherlock's chest. "Do you want to go to your parents? Be in their debt? You know what they're like."

Sherlock's hands were warm rubbing up and down John's back. His voice a hum. "Not particularly, I must admit."

John pulled away. Lifted his chin. "Then we keep trying. See what happens." He made himself smile even though he felt terrible. Felt like a failure. Like he'd failed Sherlock. Himself. That if he'd just changed his mind sooner. Stopped using the device sooner. If he'd simply let things run their course after they'd gone back in time, but at the time it had all been just too much, but he hadn't known it was going to be their last chance at this.

Since Sherlock could read all of that, he made himself not think about it.

Just not think about it at all.


	5. Sherlock's POV

John was miserable. Sherlock knew he was miserable, but had no idea how to do anything about it when he felt so horrible himself.

He should have identified that their current reproductive difficulty was a possible concern earlier. He should have done something to prevent it.

He should have done something.

So, of course, he looked for a solution.

There were the cubes where the blastocysts had already attached, but beaming them back in wouldn't create an attachment. Far from it.

Retrofitting the Uterine Replicator was theoretically extremely difficult and had taken every scientist within the Breen Confederacy over twenty years to design. They weren't him.

He wasn't several billion people determined not to die out as a species and willing to expend every possible resource of an advanced civilization towards a solution.

That knowledge was an aching wound. A black hole that disturbed the progress of his thoughts.

To add insult to injury, on their next mission, a sentient computer in the course of trying to kill them dosed all of them with a gas that rendered John's suppressants null and void.

After, John put his hand over Sherlock's when he went to get the Uterine Transporter. He said, "Let's see what happens. Roll the dice. Let them all try."

Sherlock was not familiar with terms for rolling dice or gambling. That was John.

But all dice came up wanting.

Sherlock pretended not to listen to John's communication with his mother. Elise telling John how difficult it had been to have him and Harry. Asking tentatively if he'd seen some specialists. That was, in the end, how she'd had him and Harry.

He knew John wanted him to pretend everything was fine. He pretended not to hear John break down with his mum.

He was in that state of mind when Hudson called the bridge crew to the ready room for an emergency briefing from Starfleet Command.

While they had been running away from people under the control of the artificial intelligence, Captain Sisko had mined the entrance to the wormhole to the Gamma quadrant to prevent Dominion ships traveling through said wormhole.

Too late, because while they had been blowing up the artificial intelligence, forces from the Dominion-Cardassian alliance seized control of DS9.

While they had been waiting to see if the ovum would implant, that same alliance had pushed deep into Federation space by invading the Tyra system.

While John had made the communication to his mother, the Seventh Fleet had been sent to face the Dominion-Cardassian alliance. Out of one hundred and twelve ships, ninety-eight ships were destroyed.

Nearly three times the losses of the battle of Wolf 359.

Sherlock watched John read the casualty list. John said, "Hatherley presumed dead on the USS Churchill."

He heard Hunter's sudden heartbeat before she drew in in her breath. She said, "The Montezuma was destroyed. All hands lost. Vi. She's!" Hunter dashed a hand across her face. Wiping sudden tears. "Vi's dead. I… I should. I need to contact her mother."

Hudson said quietly, "I'm afraid we need to go over our orders first." Her smile was tight. "With so many experienced crew lost, Starfleet is ordering its largest redeployment of personnel in its history." She put her hand on top of the stack of tablets. "I'm afraid the family will be breaking up." She exhaled. Something in particular was bothering her. He knew what it was as she slid a tablet towards John. "John, you've received orders too. Given you're recovery from the injury that resulted in your discharge, they're reinstating you."

Sherlock watched John take the tablet. There was a roar in Sherlock's ears. A thunder at the windows to the mind palace.

John's eyes flickered over the screen. His eyes widened. "It's not just a reinstatement. It's a promotion. I'd be the captain of a hospital ship to be deployed within the month." He scrolled down. "Because of your long experience working with holographic doctors and practicing medicine on the frontiers of known space, you're uniquely qualified for this captaincy." Sherlock watched words fall like bricks from his husband's mouth, crumbling the north tower, causing cannons to fire in the inner sea at the attack from the east. "Doctor John Watson, the Federation needs you."

Sherlock very nearly said, "Don't go!" He very nearly said, "Don't leave me!" The words burst out of him. "You should take it."

"I'm not leaving you," said John looking grumpy. Angry. Worried. Some part of John wanted to take it. To be of use. To do what he'd been denied. To help people. This was war. There would be casualties. Less if John was out there.

John should have this. John would be magnificent as this.

Sherlock said quickly, "You haven't looked down far enough. The Bakerstreet is being deployed to the Second Fleet. We would both be under the command of Admiral Lestrade."

"We wouldn't be together on the same ship," said John. "I want to have mad adventures with you. Not," he forced out the words, "be some sort of a captain."

"On a hospital ship, you wouldn't be in direct combat. You would be doing the work that you trained to do and helping the most people." Sherlock looked around the room. At the tablets in front of people he'd served with for years. "We will not be having mad adventures exploring unknown space. The Bakerstreet will be retrofitted with yet more weapons until she looks ridiculous and will fight Jem Hadar and Cardassians." He wrapped his hands around John's, needing to touch him, feel John's skin, convince him to stay, while convincing him to go. "You want this, but you don't think you should have it out of loyalty to me."

"I…" John trailed off. Looked down at their joined hands. "I do want it."

"Now," Sherlock's fingers squeezed of their own volition. Needing contact with John's skin. His scent. His heat. All of him. "After the war is won and the Federation is safe, you're to return to me immediately or I'll do something very rash. Is that understood?"

John snorted. "Understood."

The room dispersed as everyone went to deal with their new orders.

When they docked at Starbase 305, Sherlock pulled the box out from under their bed. He held it out to John and said, "Take it." He glared at the wood surface. "This is your promise you're coming back."

"Sherlock. Of course, I'm coming back. And you're not allowed to go anywhere stupid without me, yeah. No dying. That's right out."

"Yes."

Sherlock told himself that the war wouldn't last very long as they kissed.

That this was not goodbye.

He wouldn't let it be.


	6. Greg Lestrade POV

Greg had spent months stuck playing gumshoe. Then months commanding Roman legions in endless wars. A vacation world he'd been happy to escape.

A few blissful months running Starfleet operations. A desk job. Organizing troop movements to counter the rising number of Dominion convoys coming through the wormhole. Retirement looking farther and farther away.

Mining the wormhole had been guaranteed to trigger a response from the Dominion-Cardassian alliance. But really, allowing continual resupply by a massive and hostile presence on their border hadn't been a great option either. Anyone deployed in the Gamma Quadrant had seen firsthand how aggressive the Dominion could be.

But no one had expected the loss of the Seventh fleet. Least of all the admiral commanding it. The Tyra system lost. Starbases 436 and 437 captured.

Lestrade's promotion to Admiral came after never having done the right politicking to make it that far. The top brass thought… he was in the top brass. In charge of the Second Fleet. Crewed by what seemed like the bulk of the 4th year graduates from the Academy, who, Lestrade noted would be completing their finals on the way to their new posts.

As he sat in the Admiralty briefing, it was more than a bit worrying that the third years would be following them in six months. Although, Recruitment's plan to drop the bar for entry into the Academy and offering one year officer training to anyone with an advanced degree made a certain sense.

It also meant massive numbers of promotions and reshuffling to put experienced officers in command of all those shiny new Ensigns. Starfleet Command had tapped the merchant marine. Raided planetary defense corps. Lestrade flipped through his list of commanders and found he had one captain, whose last command had been a search and rescue craft. In all fairness, the Constitution class ship she'd be commanding had been pulled from the Academy training vessels.

He ended up in a six way row with the Head of Starfleet Operations, Admiral Mattea Hahn, and the other Admirals, but they were all going into battle with civilian ships that engineering had outfitted with a phaser arrays, cargo ships, the last of the mothball fleet, hopped up science vessels, to fill out their ranks. Lestrade said, "I need real ships fast. I can't send my people to face the Cardassians in…" he held up his tablet, "A former planetary patrol ship. Hundred year old ships."

There was general agreement from the other Admirals, with an emphasis on how each Admiral thought his command needed resources first.

"Which is why we're upping production on the Avenger and Concord class battle cruisers," said Hahn.

Which then led to a brief pile on of Admirals claiming first dibs.

Lestrade tried again. "That means we won't have anything for at least twelve months. Maybe eighteen. Do you know how far the Cardassians can get in that time?" More arguing.

"Quiet!" Hahn rubbed his face. "LaForge, show the projections Admiralty again. Even shifting all civilian shipyards to Starfleet production, we're looking at,"

Lestrade said, "Revive the Pegasus Chimera ships."

"With all due respect, Admiral, but while those were quick to build, they were poorly designed and under engineered," said LaForge, whose tone reflected that he'd spent the last decade on a Galaxy class ship, before being transferred to Starfleet Command as part of the current shuffle.  

Letrade was prepared for that and pushed the updated specs for the Bakerstreet to LaForge. "Implement the improvements that Captain Holmes added to the Bakerstreet."

"Holmes," began Admiral West.

"Was not the best fit for Research, and I'm sorry about your nephew, but that has nothing to do with engineering. He's done a fine job on the Bakerstreet. I have seen that ship fly rings around Dominion ships. Take on more than a dozen ships." Lestrade cast around for further arguments. "The designs have already been field tested for a dozen years. The Bakerstreet has not blown up. Is the only ship of that design still flying. Integrate the changes."

LaForge looked at the tablet. "Well, LaForge," said Hahn.

"These could work, sir, but…" he turned the tablet to one side, "I'm going to need engineers familiar with the design." He tilted the tablet the other way. "I think some of this is implying non-Euclidean math for this engine upgrade."

"You can have the entire Bakerstreet engineering team," said Lestrade. He'd been going to offer anyway. The Bakerstreet was one aging ship. He needed to get dozens of battle worthy ships in the field.

"I don't want those garbage scows," said Admiral Willis.

"Fine, you won't have to use them," said Hahn. "What will it do to our projections if we shift production, LaForge?"

"Sir, I'll need to look at the numbers," replied LaForge.

"Back of the napkin," said Hahn.

"Six months, maybe," said LaForge, which had Lestrade sighing in relief. That meant he could have ships, real ships in three months. Maybe two.

"Now that that's settled, let's talk Mobile Area Surgical Hospitals."

And wasn't that a delight learning that his ex had been tapped to run the Second Fleet's MASH units, but given the options it did make a certain amount of sense.

He felt a little differently, when he found out she'd turned around and tapped Watson to run one of the rust buckets they'd found for a MASH. Watson had nerves of steel and was a damn fine doctor, but it did meant Holmes was going to be an especial joy.  

Still, there was hope. The Federation had an enormous amount of industrial capacity if they could the requisitions through the Council. They might just get through this. Particularly the way the Dominion was throwing ships away to gain victories as if they had an unlimited supply. Which they didn't with the wormhole shut down.

Cloning labs. Shipyards. That took heavy industry and the Klingons have been hitting the Cardassians pretty hard for over a year.

They were going to do this.

Failure wasn't an option. Greg might not have saved Rome on vacation, but he'd do a damn sight better for the Federation.


	7. Violet Hunter's POV

She felt like she was losing an arm. A leg. A love. With the transfer off the Bakerstreet even if they survived the war, there was zero to no chance she'd ever get back on board.

Julian said softly, "The Captain has said that he can build a portable storage unit."

Violet snorted. "So you can be stuck in my quarters."

"Second Officers' quarters."

"And what, we make a copy of you, because without John, the Bakerstreet needs a doctor. You're not," Violet suppressed whatever it was about to explode out of her. "You're not copy able. You are unique."

"Technically," he said with a little smile, "There's about to be a lot more of me." What was unstated was that there were not enough doctors to crew all the new ships. What there were would be transferred to MASH units first.

She loved his little smile. The few strands of grey he'd programmed into his hair. She just loved him. It was all a bit awkward, totally unplanned, and yet something that had been on her mind since Vi's wedding, but she got down on one knee, because if she was doing this, she was doing it. "Julian, will you marry me?"

Julian stared at her. "I have no legal status. You can't marry me any more than you could marry," he looked around, "that monitor."

"Excuses. Do you want to marry me or not?" She smiled up at him. Her hologram.

"Yes." A simple answer. Water in eyes that didn't need to cry. Hands lifting her and kissing. A lot of kissing.

Which was how she ended up an hour later in the holodeck, with Captain Holmes by the power vested in him as a captain officiating her wedding. They came in together. Torrance Peak on Bajor. First place Violet had filmed for Julian. John was the Best Man. Kitty stood by her side as her Maid of Honor, crying and clutching at Donovan, who for once looked a little misty eyed herself. Khatri gave Violet a knitted blanket for a wedding gift. Julian looked at nothing but her the whole time.

For the honeymoon, Violet caught a transport to her new ship. A Constitution class ship under the command of a captain from Alpha Centauri's planetary defense. She smiled a little sadly to think that Vi would have loved seeing such a grand old ship.  

She twisted the unfamiliar ring that had been the first design on the list on her finger and recorded a log to send to Julian.

Promised herself that she'd put one out every day the ship wasn't actively in a firefight.


	8. Stonn's POV

Stonn knew the feeling of loss was a logical reaction to a change in circumstances. Even when the change was one for the potential better.

The mind become used to things being in a certain configuration. Also, it was logical to grieve for the inevitable loss of resources and life that came with war. While there was a benefit to himself from the transition, the logical thing to do was to acknowledge the discomfort of change. Accept it. By this path, they could move on.

He explained this to Sestre, who at fifteen, had grown as tall as Stonn, if not yet into his adult mass. Sestre said, "I understand, father. That is logical. It is also logical that at this point in my biological development that my emotions be somewhat unstable and lack proper control as a result of the hormones at work in my development." This was a reasonable explanation for Sestre's tears.

Stonn had been prepared and gave Sestre a cloth to blot his leaking eyes.

They looked around the quarters they'd shared for the better part of Sestre's life.

Stonn said, "I had not planned originally that we would get the benefit of these years in each other's company when I joined Starfleet. We have both benefited from Captain Holmes' lax regard for Starfleet protocol." It also went without saying that they'd benefitted from the lack of promotions that had come the way of the Bakerstreet crew.

"Yes, father," said Sestre, which was very subdued of him, but he was examining the door they'd cut in the wall together the day he arrived.

"Although your mother and your siblings have grown unfamiliar to you through lack of proximity, this will give you an opportunity to become known to them."

"Yes, father." Sestre ceased examining the door frame and reviewed his former room. No doubt to determine if he'd left anything there. They'd packed the previous day.

Stonn continued with a slightly raised voice, "Within a few years, you would have left to attend a place of higher learning."

Sestre emerged with a small package. It was wrapped in bright paper. He said, "Father, this is a parting gift until I see you again. It is customary."

"Not among Vulcans," said Stonn.

"But I have grown up here," said Sestre. "While I may look forward to completing my development on New Vulcan and becoming more familiar with our ways," he dabbed his cloth at his eyes and then was forced to use it to decongest his nose, "as you said it is appropriate right now to reflect on what has been."

Stonn took the package. "I have nothing for you."

Sestre held up the cloth. "This is sufficient. Open it."

Stonn did so. Inside was a data chip.

"It contains parameters for a plaque listing your many accomplishments on board this ship. Now that you have received a commission as a Lieutenant and will be building ships at the Tri-Rho Nautica shipyards, I wish those who will serve with you to understand your depth of knowledge. I would have replicated it, but this will travel better."

A thoughtful gift as Sestre always was. Stonn said, "I will replicate it in brass and polished wood, and display it for all to see."

They picked up their bags and went to the dry dock. Stonn waited while Sestre boarded the transport that would carry Sestre to New Vulcan. Then having seen to his youngest son, went to compose missives to his two older children so they would know about his change in circumstances, and be able to follow the news accordingly.


	9. Owen Treggennis' POV

Owen looked at Khatri and Lui. "I don't like the idea of you having to ride herd on a bunch of muck it up crew who don't know anything about our girl. She's tetchy. Requires care from people who love her." He patted the tertiary controls for the core infusion.

Sh'Alaack said, "Thank you for agreeing to monitor the new crew's activities." Which fair, maybe he should have led with that. Tue, Khatri and Lui as science personnel weren't in Engineering, but they did at least have a fair understanding of how the ship worked.

"It is true that the design is," Lui paused, while Owen waited to see how she would dig herself out of this one, "powerful, but complicated. But we both have fairly advanced degrees. We should be able to keep the engines running until the new crew becomes aware of our Lady's needs."

Khatri, who had somehow produced parting gifts of knitted sweaters for every kid leaving the ship, asked, "How is Craig taking the news?"

"Like he's two, so at the top of his lungs. Bitter problem is I've not told Starfleet about the little spawn," said Owen, feeling a bit shifty on that front.

Sh'Alaack frowned, "But you're being moved to Tranquility base near Terra. Sol System planetary defense. I thought that was because you are a single parent to a young child."

"Dumb luck," Owen shrugged. "Story of my life. Have adventures. Get knocked up by a god of wine, get assigned to my own home moon."

Sh'Alaack removed a smudge that wasn't there from a monitor, "What will you do about Craig?"

"Cray-cray," Owen grinned. "That's the luck. Melas is at odd bits on account of a warship not needing a genetics team. Five seconds after he offered to teach a course on Augment genetics at Mare of Serenity University, he had a gig. We figured we'd get digs together off base. Watch out for each others' kid. Pretty much as we've been doing."

"Good," said Khatri, smiling warmly. "Let us know when you've settled."

Owen didn't say anything twee or shite. Took it on himself to give the lot of them a proper salute and said, "You've got this. Keep our girl running."

"We'll do our best," said Khatri.

"We shall all do fine," said Sh'Alaack.


	10. Shroleb's POV

It was a hard discussion to have. Particularly with Thill making noises in the background.

"And then," Thil swooped his left hand currently representing the Bakerstreet, "Captain Holmes will reverse the polarity on the engines. His left hand then made what must be a devastating attack on his right hand, because he made exploding noises and wiggled the fingers.

Shrilaas whimpered and plastered herself to Khel. "I want Mama Bihr to go with us to Andor. Or why can't we go with her to where she's building ships."

"Pewwww," said Thil waving his right hand miming another ship explosion.

"I blame you for this," said Ishros quietly to Shroleb.

With the ease of long practice, Shroleb said, "While I blame their Aunt Harry." He slanted Bihr a glance.

Bihr knelt down next to Shrilaas. "My heart, the Dominion do not respect civilian targets. You don't want me to worry about you while I'm building ships do you?"

Shirlaas inhaled mucus. "No. But I want you with us," and received a kiss.

"And I wish to be with you. But the Bakerstreet was never intended to have families. We have been fortunate that the Captain allowed us to remain together for as long as he has. When the war is over, we'll be together again."

What none of them wanted to say to the children was that any shipyard would be a target. There were civilian quarters, but none of them wanted to chance it. Better for them to go home.

"Will Mama Bihr be okay?" whispered Shor. At eleven, he was too big, too aware of his dignity, for Shroleb to gather into his lap.

Still, he embraced his son. Let his son smell his scent. Feel his warmth. A lie felt wrong. "The Utopia Planitia shipyards will have the best defenses."

"What about the Bakerstreet?" asked Keraass. "Will she be okay?"

"The Bakerstreet," said Shroleb, moving into the voice of a storyteller, "Is the people who have lived in her and we'll all be fine."

He could see where Lucy was engaged in a similar discussion with Eva across the waiting area. Then their transport boarding call occurred and it was time to depart.

Shroleb had left the Bakerstreet many times over the years for visits home. Book tours.

But this leaving had him itching to write. There was no time.


	11. Lucy Hebron's POV

Lucy was a botanist with a combined masters in Exobotany and Exobiology. Neither were degrees useful in a war.

Lucy had over ten years experience in high risk situations on a Starfleet ship of the line. She'd participated in multiple research projects involving dispersed personnel.

She was the mother of an eleven year old, who she may possibly have falsified records so Starfleet thought she'd been born and rapidly aged in one of anomalies they'd encountered over the years. A child did not belong on a warship. Therefore Lucy could not be reassigned on a warship.

She and Freddy discussed it. He was being transferred to be the chief of Security on the Cortez with a promotion as a commissioned officer, Lieutenant. It was a good promotion. Better for his career than stagnating on the Bakerstreet had ever been. Not that either of them regretted the Bakerstreet's unstable stability.

Lucy knew Freddy ached at being away from Eva as much as she did, but with a war on, Eva was better off not living on a target and a starbase was just as much a target as a starship. Just a better fortified one.

Lucy had been offered an assignment managing research combatting biological weapons at highly classified defense station off of Andor. Reading between the lines, she had an idea she'd be working on the other end of that stick. Wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she hadn't resigned her commission, so that said all that needed to be said.

Still, because of her connections, she could visit Eva once a week. Eva could stay with Sh'Alaack's family. Eva could have a sense of stability with friends she knew. Parents she trusted. An environment she was familiar with.

It was perfect.

It was as well as could be expected.

It was terrible.

It was war.


	12. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally's immediate response to her transfer orders was to get on the line to Admiral Lestrade himself.

She'd seen him dressed like Roman Legionnaire and she'd seen the same side of the Dominion he had in the Gamma Quadrant. He could take her communication. As soon as he came on, she said, "You are fucking insane? You can't the fuck give Watson a fucking commission and transfer all the fucking senior staff off the Bakerstreet. Holmes will eat any new crew you send out here alive. Then he'll blow the fucking ship and then where will you be?

"Are you finished?" asked Lestrade.

"It's a fucking stupid idea!" said Sally.

"Yes, I received a more polite version of this communication from Commander Hudson," said Lestrade tiredly. He didn't look like he's slept in days. "I should have you court martialed for speaking to a superior officer this way."

She snorted. Then paused. Asked the question. "How bad is it?"

Lestrade's eyes crinkled. "We accidentally tried to transfer all the Senior Staff off the Bakerstreet after transferring the Captain's husband off the ship." He tapped something on a screen in front of him. "Consider your transfer rescinded. I already put a stop on Hudson's. But that's all you get."

"It's all I'm asking," said Sally. Cutting off the com.

Went to see Hudson to find out the size of the massive cock up and what kind of raw wankers they'd be getting.


	13. Sherlock's POV

He's made a mistake. Sherlock watched the transport recede from view. But what could he have done? John needed this. Sherlock could feel it in ever fiber of him.

Nevertheless, it was a mistake.

He went back to the Bakerstreet to calculate the Federation's industrial capacity. If after the Borg invasion, with no shortages whatsoever, the Federation had been able to renew their fleet in a year, he wanted to calculate how long it would be before they could win a war of attrition with the Dominion-Cardassian alliance. The Cardassians were a single race military. Some of their personnel had be used purely to repress the worlds under their control. The Dominion had limited resources, now that the wormhole had been closed.

It was a mistake to do the calculation.

It told him how long John would be away.


	14. John's POV

Box of possibilities in his lap, heart sore, John was pretty sure he'd made the worst mistake of his life.

Federation needed him. Sherlock needed him. He needed Sherlock.

The Federation had to be expecting high casualties to recall a Doctor cashiered out on a medical disability. He was fine now, but they didn't know that.

He knew he'd be away from Sherlock for a long time.

He just knew it.

Wasn't certain what else he could do. So, he sat in his seat and read up on his new command.


	15. Chapter 15

His first day of school felt strange from the moment he got there.

He missed all his friends. He even missed the babies, who would be walking by now.

His new classmates watched him.

Grandfather had acted like a hundred wasn't a lot of people, but it was. Especially when they were all watching him. At first he figured it was like back on the Bakerstreet. If someone new had joined in, but not really.

He smiled at the other alphas and omegas when Mummy dropped him off school, but none of them smiled back. Mummy said, "They've all been in school together a long time. Give them time."

His class was a mix of ages between ten and fourteen. He smiled at the alpha sitting next to him, but she stared at him wide eyed. The same for the omega sitting on his left.

He thought he might have figured out why everyone was acting like that with him when Ms. Melusine had him come to the front of the class to introduce him. Ms. Melusine was an original omega Augment from Earth like Grandfather, but from a different creche. She was shorter and more muscular. She smelled like lavender and sage. Her long silver hair was braided into a crown. Grandfather said that she'd ruled France and parts of Germany when Brittanus controlled Europe.

Connor wished he'd read more about the first Augments when he'd had the chance, but he hadn't really wanted to think about it. He sent a message to the Bakerstreet so Eva could ask her mom recommend some books.

Ms. Melusine said, "This is Connor son of Dora, daughter of Grendel, and a child of Meleagant, who sacrificed himself that our ships might take off. As told you last week, Connor, like I, is a refugee out of time." Her hand was warm on his shoulder. She squeezed it slightly. "He knows first hand the cruelties of the Betas." Connor wanted to protest that not all Normal Humans were cruel, but he remembered what Mummy had said about thinking before he said things so he didn't. "His grandfather Grendel is very lucky to have recovered him. A great grandchild." Her expression was full of such longing, that Connor ached for her. "Now class, like we practiced."

The children all said, "Welcome, Connor." Everyone's expressions were very intense. It made Connor feel strange.

Ms. Melusine said, "Now, Connor, if it's alright, I'd like to switch to our history module this afternoon. You can tell the class about your experiences with Colonel Green. Perhaps some of the other Augments you met at that time."

Connor stared at her. No one on the Bakerstreet had ever asked him to tell them about what he'd gone through in public. He'd eventually told Sestre, and shared a few things with Eva, but he'd never had to explain in front of a class.

He kept staring until Melusine said, "Ah, I understand," Ms. Melusine's smile was kind. Caring. Just a little hungry. "It's still too traumatic for you after all this time. Perhaps later, when you've gotten to know us better. Off to your desk now."

He sat back down at his desk and listened to the lesson. It was difficult work. Everyone in the class was really smart. But not impossible.

Lunch felt impossible. Everyone seated together at tables. He'd memorized everyone's names, but he didn't know anyone.

But Connor had helped save an entire species. Helped save everyone when the Bakersteet had been captured by Ferengi. He could do this. He went to a table where three omegas were sitting with an empty seat. He said, "Hello, Wiglaf. Fenrir. Caorthannach. Is it okay if I sit here?" He pointed at the empty space at their table.

Wiglaf finished chewing his steak. Looked at the other two.  "If you want."

Connor had to start somewhere, so he sat down and ate a spoonful of Andorian fish stew. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Wiglaf looked at him uncertainty. "I like to study. Caorthannach likes to study too. And Fenrir. We all like to study. And practice the obstacle course. I can score a ninety-seven percent accuracy with firearms."

"On your best day, maybe," muttered Fenrir.

Connor's forehead crinkled. He liked studying, and running around in a dungeon adventure game could be fun too, but they weren't the only things he liked doing. He'd probably be accurate with a weapon. He didn't know. He said, "Sometimes, I play 3-D chess or make models with Sestre. He's my best friend." He felt it was worth adding, "Sestre is a Vulcan," so they could understand that if even a Vulcan had hobbies it was okay for them to have a hobby. Then for completism added, "I also have Andorian friends and Eva, whose an Augment. I met the Hortas when they were born. They're people made of rock."

"Oh," said Wiglaf.

At the edges of Connor's hearing, he could hear a voice whisper, "Sitting with the snitch."

He looked at the others, but he guessed their hearing wasn't as good as his. He figured he might as well get it out there, "Do you think I'm a snitch?" Connor had read a good deal of youth literature from Earth and Andor. He knew what a snitch was.

Caorthannach spilled his nutrient drink on his chest. It nearly bounced onto the floor, spilling more, but Connor caught it. For several minutes they were all occupied getting sponge cleaners. When the mess was clean, Connor repeated the question.

"Why would you we think that?" asked Caorthannach. His heart was beating very fast.

Connor rolled his eyes, "Because that girl over there," he pointed to the source of the whisper," thought about it some more, and parsed back through his memories, "And him, and her, think so."

"Well, aren't you?" said Fenrir. Her voice low and hard. It wasn't really a question. "You're a body birth from the twenty-first century from before everything got ruined. You've got. Augmented hearing. Reflexes. You're stronger than any of us. Ms. Melusine showed us your gene scans. You're mostly Augment Superior. You escaped Colonel Green's reeducation camp in Namur. That's where they experimented on Augments with augmented healing. Ms. Melusine had us study Colonel Green's atrocities all last week."

"You're what we're all supposed to be," said Wiglaf quietly. "If we weren't just Inferiors."

Connor frowned. "I'm pretty sure all you're supposed to be is you. According to Grandfather, they need kids and teens here."

"They want Augment Superiors," said Fenrir. She tapped her own chest. "But they can't have them anymore with Augment Inferiors like us."

Her expression was so serious it took Connor a moment before he couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, it's just if you're Augment Inferiors that means you're A.I.s, which is pretty amazing. I know an AI and he can do almost anything. Although, I've met a lot of AIs that tried to destroy the ship. And," he emphasized that last word and raised his index finger, because John said the delivery of a joke was important, "that would make Ms. Melusine an A.S."

He waited a beat. Nothing. No response.

Instead they looked at him blankly. "An A.S. An ass." He really missed Eva and Thil just then. Shor would have rolled his eyes at that joke, and Sestre wouldn't have gotten it, but Eva and Thil would have laughed. "Calling someone an ass is an insult. It means they're mean and stuck up. I'm not supposed to call anyone an ass."

He sighed. Anytime a joke had to be explained, it was a dead joke. Unless Sestre was there and somehow that made it triple funny.

"Oh," said Wiglaf. He chewed on his steak. "I thought maybe you were sitting here to check up on us. Because I'm a distant descendant of Grendel. To see if I'm good enough to go to the um… ass," he smiled softly, "class. Maybe spend more than a few afternoons in the Gold Zone at um… many times Great Grandfather Grendel's. The asinine asses said that I'm not Augment enough to go there. They live in the Gold Zone with their parents. I'm only allowed in the Green Zone with the Augments who decided to stay and have kids here, or sometimes I volunteer in Red Zone to show the ones who don't want to be here what they're missing, which requires special permission. Not everyone can go there." Fenrir groaned and rolled her eyes.. "Not the Purple by the port." He trailed off. A compressed bag with all its air released.

Fenrir said, "The asses won't shut up about how amazing living in the Gold Zone is."

"The asinine asses are kind of stuck up," said Caorthannach.

Connor ate some soup to give himself a moment to think things through. "They're probably just lonely, because there aren't that many of them. Anyway, they didn't put me in the A.S. class. They put me in class with you."

"Because you're recovering from Juvenile Heat Syndrome," said Wiglaf in another compressed rush. "Everyone knows that you had to have a treatment or you'd have gone into rut with one of the alphas, and all the asses are alphas, because they didn't realize how things were going to be." Connor could feel his face flushing. He knew he must be bright red. "Everyone knows that as soon as the cure is confirmed, they'll probably transfer you. So you can establish an emotional bond with one of them. I don't have the genes," Wiglaf followed up sadly.

"You don't want them," said Connor quickly.

"That's what the other alignments said," said Caorthannach. Softly. Dryly. Drolly. Fenrir snickered.

Now it was Connor's turn to look at them blankly. To not get the joke. He felt bad, but if he didn't ask, he wouldn't get it next time. "What?"

"You don't know," said Wiglaf, "But how don't you know? You're from the 21st Century and everything."

"Um… that's why he's being transferred," said Caorthannach very slowly. Connor itched to speed him up and make him say what he thought, because Connor was dying to know what he didn't know, but he didn't. Even when Shrilaas and Keraass were stumbling over questions, it was important to let them finish.

Fenrir hadn't figured that out yet. "What? Spit it out."

"Let him finish," Connor said, putting his hand over Fenrir's. She stared at him. He pulled back his hand suddenly worried that he'd done something wrong. She sniffed her hand. Which had him tucking his hands under his arms uncomfortably.

"I think he left before Ti-Lia of the 1st Alignment arrived on Terra."

"Who?" said Connor, which was how he learned a very, very, very different version of the Lady of the Flowers story than the one John told. It featured Aunt Anthea and the Analyst, whose real name was Mycroft, but it mostly focused on the role played by Ti-Lia, a Breen augment, who had volunteered to go to Earth to save Augment kind to maximize the chances that the Breen race would come to exist."

"Oh, I think I met her. Colonel Green had her arm um… removed," Connor looked at his own whole hands. "He did that sometimes to see if we'd um… grow them back. Not that we do," he added quickly.

But Fenrir said, "Don't be stupid. It doesn't work like that."

"He was a very bad man," said Connor to his bowl of soup.

"Not lonely?" asked Fenrir challengingly.

"No, just bad," said Connor. "I'd rather not talk about it if that's okay." Then some other things caught up. "Wait, what do you mean so the Breen race could exist?" Unfortunately, just then the chime for the start of class pinged.

He told his mum, grandfather, and Chin, who'd arrived the day before, all about it that night over dinner. "What do you think they meant?"

Grendel sipped his celebratory glass of champagne. They were all celebrating Connor's first day at school.

Connor was having sparkling cider, which he liked.

Chin Singh said, "Mummy kept the situation quite secret. But you must understand, only the Representatives for each alignment had access to the sacred recording. There was a general understanding that the Breen believed they came from us, but until, the… hard to call it a prophecy… time travel prognostication came to pass, know one quite understood what it all meant."

Connor was getting really tired of being confused. He'd spent a year being confused. "What?"

"My brother, Sherlock, and Doctor Watson are the progenitors of the Breen race." She put her hand over Mummy's. "Time travel. It brought us together. It allowed them to go back in time and create the Breen race, and as they returned it may as yet allow them to…" she stopped and looked down. "Obviously, I'm glad they were able to determine a treatment for Connor."

"But," Mummy looked at Grandfather and Chin. "That's terrible. That means something made them leave their children behind. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been able to bring Connor. What could possibly have made me leave him." Mummy pulled away from Chin and hugged Connor. Kissed his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mum." Connor kissed his mum's cheek.

Mummy went back to his chair. "I need to contact John. I meant to send a longer message thanking him for all he's done for Connor. I need to let him know how sorry I am. I mean, perhaps children aren't part of what he wants for himself and Captain Holmes, but to be forced to leave their children behind." He shook his head. "That's awful."

"You can't." Chin looked alarmed. "You mustn't send a message. Not one that can be intercepted. It's not generally known that the Breen are Augments. The Breen disguise this to protect the Terran Augments."

Connor heard his mum's heart skip a beat. He knew Chin and Grandfather must have heard it to. Into the silence of that beat, Connor said, "But why? I don't understand it. You could have been asking Augments to come live here all along. Then the schools would have been full. There'd be all sorts of Augments living here. It doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it," said Grandfather putting down his napkin. His voice hardening. Suddenly, Connor could see the man who had stood at Brittanus' right hand during the wars. He'd learned about that in the past. "How is it that you could survive Colonel Green's camps and not understand the risk to our people? Didn't you read about the anti-Augment riots after it was revealed that Brittanus was behind the attack on London. San Francisco. Those were innocents being killed. Murdered by Federation citizens. It happened before. It will happen again."

Connor didn't say, "We were tortured for your crimes." He didn't say it. He wanted to, but he didn't. Because it wasn't really true. Colonel Green would have picked someone. Anyone to bully and torture. It was what bad people did. He did say, "Why? Are you going to do something? Are the Breen going to do something that would make people in the Federation mad?"

Grandfather turned a sort of purple. "It's outside your comprehension. You'll understand when you're older."

Mummy stood up. "Don't lecture me and my son about what we've been through. What people are capable of," said Mummy. He stood up. "Come on, Connor. Let's finish dinner in our quarters. Suddenly, I'm not in the mood for celebrating with the present company."

"Billy," said Chin, standing up at the same time. "About what we talked about?"

"I will consider it." Mummy looked back. Briefly touched her shoulder. "But now is not the best time." He stood up and walked up to their suite with the balcony overlooking the western mountains.

They ate in silence for a long time. Watching the sunset turn the mountains gold and pink. Purple deepening into black and the stars came out. Pretty in a different way than in the observation deck back home.

Home. The Bakerstreet.

Into that quiet, he asked, "What did Chin mean?" It felt like his millionth question of the day. He missed the Bakerstreet, where there weren't questions all the time.

Mummy answered by putting his hands around Connor's. Leaning across the table. He said, "Before I say anything, remember I haven't said yes."

"Okay," said Connor bracing himself.

Mummy said, "Chin asked me to travel with her on her next few errands for her parents. Perhaps go to meet her parents." The Khans. Mummy meant the Khans. "For the last year, we have had to be apart. Because she had to run her parents' errands."

"Because of me," said Connor. He squeezed when his mum started to protest. "I don't mean in a bad way. It's embarrassing, but I'm not responsible for my genes. But because I would have reacted badly." He could still remember the craving, the almost mindless need, which had made him act so badly to mum. His mum had said he'd had it even worse than Mum had. The Doctors hadn't been sure why it had been so bad.

"Yes," admitted Mum. "You're right. Because if I'd touched Chin and brought her scent with me when I visited you, it would have made things harder for you."

Connor thought about it. He thought about all the things they'd been through. "I guess I didn't end up helping much to convince Grandfather to stop kidnapping people just because they're sort of related to him."

"Thirteen times relations," said Mummy with a soft smile.

Connor couldn't help it. He laughed. It was just so ridiculous to get so focused on such distant relationships when was important was how people were. Eva wasn't more his friend than Sestre, just because she was an Augment. Wiglaf wasn't closer to him than Thil or Shor. Thil had even sent him a template for a grappling hook that their Aunt Harry had sent them, who technically speaking wasn't anyone's aunt.

His mum continued, "I haven't done much convincing for the last year either. Not exactly what I expected when we came here." He looked at Connor. "There's also something there hasn't been time to tell you yet." His face was lit with the golden light of the room behind them. "The Federation has gone to war with the Dominion-Cardassian alliance."

Connor shivered. He'd grown up in a world at war.

Connor remembered the Dominion. It was hard not to. They'd tried to crush the Bakerstreet in an energy web. Gave the people on Auberj a plague and then bombed the planet just for not agreeing with them. And the Cardassian had done all sorts of horrible things to the people of Bajor. Eva had told him about it after visits to Bajor with her mom. Not nice people in alliance with not nice people. He asked, "We need to convince the Breen to help the Federation."

"I don't think they get involved in other people's wars very often," said Mum.

"No, but, look." Connor pointed to his plate. "That's the Federation." He moved Mum's plate next to it. "That's the Cardassians." Since he was out of plates, he moved the salt and pepper shakers together on the far side of the Cardassian plate. "That's the Ferengi." He flattened his napkin next to the Ferengi and then lifted the salt shaker because he was trying to represent something three dimensional using dinnerware. "That's the Breen. And they're Augments. If they came into the war, it would put the war on two fronts. If they do something good for the Federation, then we don't have to worry about revealing that they're Augments. They can be… I don't know, the United States in WWI and WWII. Good will all around."

He could see his mum nodding. Thinking. He knew Connor was right.

"You should go with Chin. Maybe convince the Khans to convince the others. And you know, get to know Chin a little better." He shrugged. "It's not as if you're going away forever. I'll be fine here. Anyway," he pursed his lips, plotting, "I can try to help Grandfather understand not all Beta Humans are horrible. Tell him about all the really good species living in the Federation. He advises the Khans. Get him to think helping them is a good idea too."

His mum squeezed his hand. "Don't be too hard on him, dear."

"Mum, I'm trying to convince him of something. I won't be hard on him."

"I'll let Chin know that my answer is yes. Once I know you're really settled into school." Connor nodded absently. He went to brush his teeth. His thoughts already focused on his plan of attack on the following day.


	16. Chapter 16

John went through an endless series of cycling through thinking he'd made the worst mistake of his life and that he'd made the righteous – if hard to call it right – choice all the way to his command, and a bit more once he'd gotten there.

The Hippocrates wasn't much to look at. It had been a Y-500 freighter in a previous life. It had minimal attack capabilities – mostly good for pot shots at pirates. All its power went into its massive engines. Shields. Some set aside for holo-generators for one hour bursts for up to twenty holographic doctors with no long term memory capacity, and rows of biobeds lined up in three of the former cargo holds. Although, to John's mind, the one hold converted into a morgue said how Starfleet really expected the upcoming battles to go.

John had gone from running a sickbay to managing a medical staff of fifty, every one of them raw Crew third class, who'd gone through a bare six week training, with an additional eight personnel in engineering and the bridge crew. He hyperventilated on the inside. He put that damn box in his cabin.

Told himself every damn data cube was a promise that he was going to see Sherlock again. Pulled up his chin, put back his shoulders, and got to it.

Bit of a surprise to realize that his first officer, one Mike Stamford, was Celenium Bathroom guy.

Stamford's first words to him were, "John, sir, captain, you've hardly aged a day." He looked down. "While I got a bit plumpie around the tummy." He pulled a rueful face. "What's your secret?"

"I married Professor Holmes. He fucks me the young right into me." It slipped out. He really had spent a long time on the Bakerstreet. Also, it was biologically speaking not far off. At least as far as his liver, left kidney and ovary were concerned. Nothing to worry too much about when the Federation was in enough danger to deploy cargo ships as MASH units.

All the easier to shake his head at the expression on Stamford's face.

Still, John needed to stop right there, because thinking about Sherlock led back to thinking this might be worst mistake of his life. "Let's see what this ship's got."

Stamford had been a mildly forgettable lay back in the day, but he was a damn good XO. John's bridge crew was rounded out by his second officer, Commander Norburton, who'd come out of retirement to run security. Fresh from the academy, Ensign Parsons on nav, and Crewman Yarhuse on the helm.

She'd been a racing pilot out of Alpha Centauri and it showed in the casual way she made her corners just a bit too tight.

Within days of boarding, they were deployed at the battle of Camu V. Taking heavy fire from the Dominion ships, who apparently didn't understand the whole don't fire on hospitals thing, while maneuvering the ship to pick up escape pods, transporters made for individual transport not bulk. John wondered what could Starfleet be thinking sending so many outclassed ships?

John had to give the order to pull back from the front line because there was no way – Sherlock would have found a way - the shields could withstand more blasts.

But when a Cardassian destroyer cracked the USS Cortez like a hammer smashing glass – bodies spilling out of the ship like so many motes of dust – John decided fuck that noise, and told Crewman Yarhuse what he wanted done.

She grinned, hands flying, and didn't argue.

The Hippocrates lurched forward in a way it really wasn't designed to do. Spinning as it went under the remains of the Cortez, massive hold doors open, and scooping up air and debris and people. Parson's trembled as he slapped the controls for the holds a little more forcefully than was necessary.

"That should not have worked," said Stamford, gripping his chair with white knuckles.

"I had every confidence in Yarhuse." Really, she was an amazing pilot and clearly more than a little bit of an adrenaline junky. Took one to know one. John ran for the lift. "Stamford, get anyone else beamed aboard and pull back. You have command."

John found the holographic doctors already clearing debris and placing the wounded on biobeds. He and the sentient medical staff spent the next nineteen hours patching together the broken bodies, using everything they'd learned over the years to save lives.

End of a weary while, he reached out and was handed a nutrient drink by none other than Captain Benjamin Sisko. John blinked at him. Slight fracture of the right tibia. Sub-hematoma on his right check. Otherwise fine.

"That was a dangerous maneuver," said Benjamin. "Although, given I spent five seconds in what remained of the Cortez' atmosphere floating in the vacuum, thank you."

John nodded wearily. Tried to speak. Drank a sip. Sat down heavily on a cot. "Well, you know, hold my beer." Fell asleep where he sat.

Woke up a few hours later to blearily look at the rest of who he'd saved. Most of them were just kids. Seventeen. Eighteen. Twenty years old tops.

Crewmen and Ensigns fresh out of school. Graduated early to meet the Federation's time of need.

It was only later, nursing a coffee or three with Stamford, Benjamin, and anyone else too tired to sleep, that he realized that he'd been those kids once.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

Except, his first mission had been getting knocked up, some time travel with a sex pollen chaser. Not a battle with two out of three ships lost.

Stumbled into Freddy Washington in one of the corridors talking to one of the kids. Telling him a highly edited version of their first mission. Showing the kid pictures of his daughter, Eva.

He'd forgotten Washington had been transferred to the Cortez. Felt like he was forgetting most things.

John thought about sending a vid message about it to Sherlock, but it would have to go through sensors. Loose lips vented ships to the vacuum and all that. He sent a shorter one with just the main point. "I love you."

He hand wrote the longer message on paper and put it in the box to rest with all the other potential.


	17. Chapter 17

Her dad sent her a message telling her that he was fine. That she was not to worry. That he was fine. There was an edit in the communication. It just cut off with him saying blip, Cortez, and he was fine. That he was being transferred to a new ship.

She discussed it with Thil and Shor and they absolutely agreed she was right. Someone had edited her dad's communication with her. Removed something.

Shor said, "It's probably for security. For the war."

Eva glared at the screen. "It's not right. Federation citizens are guaranteed freedom of speech. The government isn't allowed to abro...abro… mess around with what we can say."

Thil put his hand over hers. "Do you want to try and find out what he said?"

Eva knew that if she said yes, Thil would hatch a wild plan to hack into something. He'd been practicing hacking.

Shor was giving her a wide eyed look. So she said, "No. I'm sure it wasn't anything important. Probably just that something happened to his ship. Maybe. There were a million reasons why he could have said he wasn't fine.

She thought about contacting Sestre or Connor to give her ideas, but really she didn't need anymore ideas. Her dad was fine. He was fine.

That weekend, when her mom came to visit, she was very upset about something. When Eva asked if this was about her dad, she snapped at Eva. Told her afterwards, "I'm sorry for shouting sweetie. Nothing to do with your father. I did get word that your father's ship was lost, but that Doctor Watson saved him. Everyone's talking about it."

"What about dad? Will he come visit while he gets better?"

"So, I'm sorry sweetie. He's already been transferred to the USS Arminius."

"What kind of ship is that?" asked Eva. She had looked up the statistics on the Cortez when Dad had been assigned there.

Her mom pushed her lasagna around on her plate. "It's one of the new Pegasus Chimera ships. Fresh out of the yards."

"Oh," said Eva feeling relieved. "That means Sh'Alaack or Stonn or Owen built it. He'll be fine then." Nothing bad could happen to her dad if he were on a ship like the Bakerstreet.

"I…" her mom reached over with her fork and tapped Eva's plate. "Eat your dinner."

"Yes, mom." After a while Eva asked, "If it wasn't about Dad, why did you get so mad?"

"What I'm working on during the week doesn't make me feel so good."

"So, don't do it," said Eva. It really was that simple.

But her mom just smiled as if Eva was just a kid. "It's not that simple."

They finished their lasagna. Spent the night watching their favorite Tollywood vid on her Mom's tablet.

In the morning, her mom transported back to base.

Eva ate her breakfast of algae cereal without enthusiasm. Eva saved her food credits all week for replicated meals on the weekend with her mom.

Shroleb had been the one who explained why they had to have green paste and wash their clothes instead of replicating new ones. He'd even written vids for kids all over Andor. They'd shown one in school. There were a lot of kids on Andor. A lot. Because of Eva's mom, which was nice. All the parents kept being really nice to Eva once they found out who her mom was. Whenever it got a little strange, Thil stepped in and let everyone know he was a Bakerstreet twin.

It was a little weird watching a vid with the twin's dad telling them that Andor had been focused on replicators and none of the farmers had really been prepared to have to cut back on replicator produced food. But with the war needing all the energy they could spare for the industrial replicators at the shipyards, the fastest thing the government could put on the market was nutrient enriched algae.

Eva wondered sometimes if this was what it had felt like to live in the stone age. She wished Connor was there to ask, or Sh'Alaack. Thil said she'd lived on a colony where they'd almost run out of food.

But when she asked Shroleb, he'd laughed. "We're nowhere near running out of food. Algae is boring, but filling." Then he grinned. "Just wait until the salamander meat becomes available."

Shrilaas wrinkled her face. "Eww."

"Don't knock it until you try it," said Shroleb.

Khel said dryly, "I'm with Shrilass on this one. Eww."

Thil raised his chin and said, "If it's for the war effort, we should do it." Because Thil could be depended to say that sort of thing.


	18. Chapter 18

The world felt small in his mother's apartment. He knew that logically this was not correct. It was larger than his quarters on the Bakerstreet.

The apartment had an excellent view of the town center. The transport facility that led up the New Gol shipyards, which were experiencing a boom. Vulcans from all over New Vulcan coming to work in the shipyards, which had been converted from civilian ship production to support building ships for Starfleet. It was understood that Vulcans couldn't join Starfleet, not with so few of them left, but they could provide ships.

He was near a place where ships were built for space. His father had worked at New Gol. Sometimes, he wished his father had been transferred to New Gol, but his father was working in an established Starfleet shipyard.

He told himself it was reasonable after space that the apartment, the planet, had the qualitative feeling of smallness, because space was vast.

When he told his mother this, she arched an eyebrow. "This apartment is not small. New Gol is not small. It is one of the largest town on New Vulcan."

His little brother, Sirok, ignored him. After Sestre had proved unfamiliar with all of the logic games that Sirok enjoyed, all the outdoors activities that the youth of Vulcan were expected to be familiar with, and he'd failed a number of cultural cues, his little brother, seven years his junior had decided he was irrelevant. Focused on telling Sestre about how his other older brother, Sakkath, had a license to operate an air car and went to the Vulcan Academy of Science.

Sestre's own older brother and sister were busy with families of their own. His niece, T'Pringa, who was three years his elder, was employed as an engineer at New Gol. Her daughter attended the same school as Sirok, if one grade below him. T'Pringa had told him that with the increased demand, she would be able to find him an internship easily. Building ships that he would never travel in.

He watched a sandstorm swallow the town. A wall of sand consuming everything for kilometers. Nothing to see but whirls of sand at the window. It was irrational to feel trapped. The windows were excellent.  

It was not Sestre's intention to announce, "I will be applying to Starfleet Academy when I have reached the age of consent."

This earned him a snort from Sirok and another eyebrow from his mother. She said, "You are too young." What she meant was he hadn't had the requisite three children required from any Vulcan before they were allowed to do anything interesting with their lives.

Required.

It wasn't a law. It was expected. It was rational.

Sometimes Sestre wondered what it had been like to be a Vulcan in the old days. Before the destruction of Vulcan. Before Vulcans had been turned into an endangered species. It wasn't particularly logical to wonder about such things, but Connor had always encouraged him in these intellectual exercises.

He ate the roast vegetables from the market. They had originally been intended for the high end real food market, but with energy restrictions on replicators, most days Mother had Sestre get produce from the hydroponics facilities where teens were expected to volunteer.

When he composed his message to Connor that evening, he said only, "New Vulcan seems small." He was certain that Connor would understand what he meant.

Expected.

Not the law, but it was rational that they all do their part.


	19. Moriarty POV

"Moriarty, you expend too many resources for small territorial gains," said Damar. "My people are not expendable." Blah. Blah. Blah. Limited solids. As if the Cardassians existed for any purpose other than to die.

"You will not address the Founder in such a familiar manner," said Weyoun the something or other clone of that line. "They are nameless and unknowable."

Actually, Moriarty had a sentimental attachment to that name. The first solid he'd killed in the Alpha Quadrant. Well, after he'd known what he was.

He liked the name.

Among the Changelings, what need did he have of a name? Several of the other Changelings trapped on this side of the wormhole had challenged him about that affectation. Gamma Quadrant Changelings with no idea of the variety that came of being in the Alpha Quadrant. The individuality. The chaos.

Damar said, "I was afraid of this. I warned you that Cardassia does not have the economic might of the Federation. A mere four months, they are already out producing us. This disparity will only increase. Out recruiting us. Cardassia could never have recovered from a loss like the Seventh Fleet. If we are to hold onto our gains, we need to declare a truce. Focus on destroying the mines blocking the route to the Gamma Quadrant."

Wasn't that sweet. Damar thought that Dominion forces were the disposable ones. That he was something special.

"We don't need a truce." Moriarty drawled. "More ships and more Jem Hadar will be here shortly. Don't you fret that pretty little face of yours." He stretched out a limb to slide a tendril down Damar's neck ridges. "You'll winkle."

"From where?" asked Damar. He waved at where little drones were attempting to eliminate the mines replicating away in front of the wormhole. Really it was a wonderfully random design. Moriarty might keep it. "You've been cut off from your supply line."

The Gamma quadrant. Joined with dull changelings in a soupy Great Link. Moriarty wanted to play.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," said Moriarty.


	20. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock slept for three days while the Bakerstreet traveled with the convoy to New Ephesus.

Julian had hypoed Sherlock with a sedative. When he protested, Julian said, "The effects of the sedative wore off in thirty minutes. The rest was all you. As a doctor, I had an obligation to the crew's safety."

Sherlock had no idea what Donovan meant when she said he'd been vomiting crazy and he certainly had not been gibbering. He'd been augmenting the shields because he was an augment and augmentation was what he did.

He made things better.

He'd made a terrible mistake.

He would be lying to himself – idiot, idiot, idiot – if he did not admit that he had encouraged John to accept re-admittance into Starfleet in the hopes that perhaps with this would assuage his guilt at their failed attempts for a child. But what if John loved success?

Everyone loved success.

Sherlock loved success.

Adored it.

John had told him about his Hold My Beer Maneuver the last time their ships had been assigned to the same mission. Told Sherlock about the amazing work he was doing running a hospital ship. Saving lives.

Then he had to leave. 

Leave over.

The war went on.

Sherlock redoubled his efforts. Ran calculations during every battle. Reviewed specifications on ship capabilities. Enemy and ally. Highest probable point for removing enemies.

_ First Father said, "Tactics are for winning battles. Strategy is for winning wars. Convincing the enemy that you will not do what they think you will do." _

_ Mycroft said, "Wars are not for territory. They are for hearts and minds." _

_ Mummy said softly, "We never won those."  _

_ Which had Sherlock looking at Mummy's portrait sharply. They had never been quite so objective. In life or in memory. _

_ They smiled faintly. "Your inland sea has a humidifying effect." _

During the operational planning to retake the Trya system, he called Admiral Lestrade and every captain there an idiot, no John to stop him, and was forced to explain the obvious. "Let them hold the Tyra system. It has no natural resources that benefit them. They've taken everything that can be taken from that position. It's a long thing, hard to supply area of space. Just," he held up a finger, the possibilities spinning, "harry their supply lines with small craft from the asteroid belts. Position these ships," he flung the markers on the display, "to make them them think we want it. They'll be forced to pull resources from here," more markers on the starfield, " to deal with us. Death by a thousand cuts. Meanwhile," he rotated the star chart, "the Cardassian facility at Tarangen is operated through forced labor. Free the labor force. Scatter them. Destroy the shipyard. Move on."

"But shouldn't we hold it," started Captain Plamer.

"Don't be even more of an idiot than you are," said Sherlock feeling as if was floating. "What did I just say. Be where they aren't. With the increased number of Pegasus Chimera in fleet operations, our ships are faster. But they have the advantage in going head to head." At least until he could figure out how to improve shield capacity. He had a little idea involving an energy recursion based on a Ferengi scientist's research regarding coronal…

"Captain Holmes!" From a  flickering observation of the room, Admiral Lestrade had said this several times. "Trangen it is."

Theory became proven at the Battle of the Coromden System. He wanted to fly through the space dividing the Bakerstreet and the Hippocrates. The system was poorly defended. That did not mean undefended. Particularly when he saw the way John's pilot was flying the old freighter.

Wincing as he rapidly calculated the metal stress on the freighter's structure while taking part in his own maneuver to keep a Cardassian light cruiser pinned down. Unable to defend the shipyards while the rest of the fleet concentrated fire on taking out planetary defenses. Concentrated on landing marines onto the planet Cardassian fortified positions.

John was busy. Saving lives.

The workers in the shipyard turned on the Cardassians. Riots broke out on the planet below.

Starfleet left. It had been Sherlock's own recommendation. 

Now that it was implemented, he could only think about the reprisals sure to follow when the Cardassians came to retake the system.

John argued with Sherlock about that. But then, he couldn't see what Sherlock could see. Federation lives poured down the well of holding a planet they didn't need or want. Then quirked a sad smile. "Course that's how you see things. I knew who I married."

Sherlock slept alone that night. Not because of angry words. The Hippocrates was transporting wounded back to Federation territory while Sherlock's task force moved onto the next soft target.

In the Hippocrates' absence, Sherlock actually went to the next meeting of the Augment Social, which was reduced, but still functional. Lurked in a corner breathing until Sun Lui asked him about his shield design. Asking all the wrong questions. Khatri gave him a set of knitted sweaters to give to John. She said, "You can trade them back and forth on each leave. One was blue like John's eyes. The other was the color of John's hair. Both were very soft. She gave him a set of scarves for himself. "Something for John."

They did just that. It was something to hold.

It wasn't enough.

The sooner the war was over, the sooner he'd know if John was coming back to him. If he'd cross a line that John could not stand over the course of fighting the war. 

Strategy was about winning wars.

They loved each other. He was wallowing in that thought when he sat up in their bed in sudden realization.

He could always go to where John was. His commission was of primary importance because it gave him opportunities to explore. To learn. It wasn't the only way to do so. He could simply resign. It wouldn't be possible to make a terrible mistake if he did. If John decided he wanted to retain his commission after the end of the war, he'd be fine.

Then inevitably, his mind couldn't stop making calculations. Capacity. Recruitment. All the ills the Dominion was capable of.

The ongoing rate of reduction of experienced crew meant more and more personnel with little to no experience would rise in the ranks. It was bad enough now. Personnel jumped up far past their actual experience in the field.

Sherlock found that when he thought of the Federation falling, the idea was painful. It had become a home for him. A place to land when he'd left where he'd grown up. A ridiculous place of fantastic idealism. 

He'd seen many fractured worlds. Broken. Desolated by war. Irradiated by battle. The thought of that happening to Earth. Re-happening, given what he'd seen when they'd travelled into the past. 

He could not speculate if the Federation could survive with ideals intact. The longer the war continued, the less likely that scenario.

He resolved to focus all his brain work on resolving the war.

Which was the difficulty of a holographic doctor. He didn't see Julian before he was sedated.


	21. Julian's POV

He wore a ring on his finger that matched a ring parsecs away. It was a part of him now. A part of his program. He had no heart to ache. No actual arms to long with. No program with a parallel for Holmes' histrionics. Wished he did. He was programed to be reasonable. Calm in crisis. Not brilliant. Capable.

Violet's ship had yet to be assigned to the Bakerstreet's location. Reasonable. Older ship. Even with an engine retrofit, they accompanied slow troop convoys. It couldn't make the Bakersteet's lightning raids. 

He waited in Sickbay with Holmes while he slept. Ensured he was given nutrients shots. When he woke, Julian asked Holmes if he could make a compression algorithm that would send his program to where Violet was. The answer was a scoff, an algorithm, and device to enable him to appear for thirty minutes at a time with a way to send the memories home. 

He wasn't leaving copies of himself laying around. 

He was a snail. A turtle. Perhaps, a crab. 

He sent the specs. The comfort was in knowing it was there.


	22. Bihr Sh'Alaack's POV

Bihr had learned many things on the Bakerstreet, but her first mission had made quite an impression. She implemented full pathogen protocols for any personnel coming back from leave before being allowed back into Utopia Planitia.

Admiral West, who was in charge of operations in Sector One, called to complain about this shift in protocol, which was costing crew a day every time personnel went off site on rotation.

Thundering shouting.

"With respect Admiral," she said, knowing that Utopia Planitia's operations answered directly to the head of Starfleet Operations, "But should a pathogen be introduced, production will be reduced by far more. Additionally, these breaks allow further maintenance on the machinery used in construction."

Was glad she'd had the seniority to insist, when a particularly virulent form of Venusian flu went through the shipyards at Tranquility Base. And Tri-Rho Nautica. And nine other shipyards. At the same time. Multiple worlds throughout the Federation. All stricken with the same strain of the same disease. Simultaneously.

Bihr was not responsible for biologicals. She was responsible for hardware. She kissed the images of her loved ones and called for volunteers for double shifts to help meet the Federation's need.

But pathogen protocols couldn't stop accidents. Tired people working too long on stressed metal. Physics didn't forgive mistakes.

Bihr was not responsible for biologicals. She was responsible for hardware. 

Bihr contacted Ensign Fuller's wife and children. Told them that she was sorry for their loss. Went to work her next shift.


	23. Lucy Hebron's POV

Lucy looked in displeasure at the monitor. Her mind going in a dozen directions. How she was going to tell Eva about Freddy? What was happening to the Federation? Ideals? Children dying? War?

"Is there something wrong?" asked Doctor Vishandra. She was an Augment omega like Lucy. Like Lucy' she'd bucked prejudices against Augments studying biology to end up here.

"Did you think this what you were getting a degree for when you went to uni?"

Vishandra sighed. Looked at her presentation. "I had thought my people… our people had gotten past this sort of foolishness."

Lucy knew what she must mean. Back in the day Augments had been designed as weapons just as much as any virus. The Jem Hadar were designed as weapons. Every Federation treaty strictly forbid the use of biological weapons in war. As much as they forbid the kind of genetic engineering that had created Augments.

The Dominion had no such regulations. Their fingerprints were all over the flu that had hit Starfleet shipyards. The same un-mutated strain in all locations. Lab perfect. The lipid profile in the viral membrane identical to the membrane of the virus used to attack the Auberj. A disease perfectly designed to incapacitate a wide range of species without killing them. Except the very young. Death rates among the very young were quite high.

Lucy's team had spent weeks working on a vaccine. All the while, she longed to be with Eva, but all transport on or off the base was off-limits for the foreseeable future.

Told herself Eva was fine. Andorians weren't susceptible. Herd immunity meant Eva was fine. Eva had an augmented immune system. She was fine. Lucy couldn't go to her. Tell her about Freddy. Hold her.

But she kept thinking that production at the shipyard on Andor was picking up.

The Federation could ensure Changelings didn't enter bases. The security theater of ports of entry as she understood it was getting to be overly theatrical. Meaningless, when Changelings could travel in space. They couldn't keep them off planets entirely. The next artificial pandemic was just a matter of time.

Andor as a target was just a matter of time.

Which wasn't the decision on the monitor in front of her. Her call. She was the project lead.

Lucy wanted to say everything was fine without doing this. She wanted to say Section 31 wasn't real. She wanted to say that she was not going to be party to engineering a virus that affected the biometric stability of Changeling's morphic cells.

The Dominion were doing it.

The Federation was above this.

She had ideals. Standards.

A daughter eating algae cakes, who didn't know yet that three weeks after surviving being spaced on the Cortez, and being reassigned to the USS Arminius, Freddy hadn't survived the next battle. The Arminius had been destroyed. All hands lost. Over three hundred people.

Lucy was a single mother now, who couldn't go to her child.

Starfleet had stopped releasing casualty lists. Contacting immediate relatives on a need to know basis. Lucy was not on a list of need to know. Eva was not on a list of need to know. Secrecy had done that. Lies in the logs.

The only reason she knew at all was John had contacted her. The benefits she supposed of being friends with the captain of a MASH unit in the thickest action.

Her girl's father was gone. She and Freddy hadn't been in love, but they had been friends. Had been connected by someone they both loved.  

That was what she was reduced to.

Looking at a monitor with a promising research study.

Giving up her ideals, all the reasons she'd gone into the study of biology, which had nothing to do with engineering viruses in a direct attack on a specific species.

The Dominion did it too. If her enemy committed genocide, should she? Once the gene genie was out the box, it was out. She wondered if any of the scientists who'd worked on Augments had ever paused. Had some reason that they'd done as they'd done.

Lucy said, "It's a good proposal. I'll get the personnel and resources."


	24. Violet Hunter's POV

Long slow periods of nothing, interspersed by sudden furious action. Got a commendation from her Captain. Made First Officer.

Told her next recording to Julian, "If we'd had a holographic… if we'd had a you, he'd be alive. He was sitting right next to me. I held him while he... If I'd been five meters over, it would have been," she deleted the recording.

Tried to record something about the book she was reading. History of wars was a little too sharp just then. Tried to record something light. But nothing came out.

Had a panic attack when she realized it had been a week. Knew it was stupid. Couldn't help it. 

Couldn't very well go to Sickbay for a consult. 

The USS Carpathian didn't have a doctor. Old ship. Not in the thick of the action. All they rated was an Emergency Medical Hologram. 

She felt sick even going by that deck.

Cried more than a little when she got Julian's recording. And a design for a receiver/transceiver with a mini-emitter with a note, "If you need me, call. I can be there. Thirty minutes of memory. Love, Julian."


	25. Eva Hebron's POV

Eva turned off the monitor. She'd just screamed at her mom, which wasn't something she did. She wasn't like that. 

She told Khel, "I'd like to be alone right now."

Didn't wait to hear the answer. At least now knew why Dad hadn't messaged her.

She went to her room. Stared at the wall. She should do something. 

There was nothing to do.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Thil and Shor came in. They sat down with her. Since she actually shared the room with Shrilaas and Keraass, she was lucky she'd been left alone that long.

Shor said, "You're mom's worried about you. We're all worried."

"My father…" Eva couldn't say it. 

Thil replicated a piece of paper and a pen. He drew lines on the page. They squiggled right and left. Branched. Deadended. Curled on. When the page was full. He wrote: E, T, S at the opening to the labyrinth. He said, "Eva, Thil and Shor entered the ice cave of the dastardly Thul Dragus." He dotted across the page.

Sometimes, Shor would add things about where they were going in the maze, but mostly it was Thil. He could talk forever if she let him.

She let him.

Talking on and on.

When they reached the pit of endless falling, a black spot in the maze, she burst into tears. She didn't know why. But the dam broke. She cried on Thil, who cried with her until Shor went and got Khel. Cried until she felt light and dull and empty.

Until Shroleb tucked her in like she was a little kid and told her a story in the dark. It wasn't the same. He didn't smell like her mom. Her dad. She curled away into her pillow and tried to pretend.


	26. Mycroft's POV

As with most unpleasant tasks, Mummy sent Mycroft to interact with the Dominion representatives.

Below, the main thoroughfare of Beta Aurigae thronged with pedestrians. Breen in armor, walking about their business. District 1 of Blue Zone was where the 1st, 5th, and 9th Alignments lived. It was where important emissaries might be taken to see the splendor of tall buildings next to the sea.

He looked at the changing sea. "We just made delivery on an agreed upon shipment," said Mycroft mildly. "A shipment in which there has been no reciprocal progress on resolving the biological issue that we presented you with."

Weyoun, and what a strange thing to be dealing with a clone of some long dead administrator, said, "When the war is won, the Dominion will have the time and resources to concentrate on your request. In the meantime, we require more troops. More ships."

By which he meant, "Wait until the Dominion is better able to more properly digest you." By which he meant that they were too busy developing biological weapons. By which he meant that the Changelings currently in charge of the war had no intention of reducing their reckless expenditure of lives. To them, the Jem Hadar were replaceable. Bodies to pile on Federation and Klingon dead.

For that matter, in thirteen months of open war, this was the third Weyoun that Mycroft had dealt with.

"Of course," Weyoun's tone was well oiled, as all Weyouns were, "if the Breen were to enter the war, our valued ally, the war would be done sooner. It's hard to believe that a race with the warlike reputation of the Breen would hold back." He then proceeded to offer the Breen territory hard won by Cardassian troops.

Earth. Colony worlds dense in human inhabitants. Not just the two hundred and fifty million Augments. Eleven point two billion humans. An empire. A Khanate.

Hubris.

The Cardassians would never stand for the gains they'd bled for being given away.

"I'll take your offer back for advisement."

"Of course. In the meantime, we do need more troops or all that you've invested will be lost."

Weyoun had to know he'd get them. Requests so far resulted in yes.

His advice to Mummy was the same as it always was, "The alliance with the Dominion is dangerous." Biological warfare. No prisoners. Total war. Worlds in disruption. Chaos. No end in sight. His agents within Starfleet that they were considering changes in orders. Not so far as take no prisoners, not yet. But space eliminated prisoners all too well. When he told his mother about the biological research, they'd smiled. "A bargaining chip."

He was told he'd never been to war, as if Mummy's experience had been anything to speak about.

Having been summarily ignored, Mycroft delivered news that in exchange for the promise of Earth itself, the Dominion might consider themselves to have access to certain bases that his parents had been arranging for some time, and that of course, more resources would be forthcoming. 

That oh, so pleasant task done, what with Moriarty gliding out of a wall to ramble on about how bored he was, but that was Weyoun the third's problem. Soon, to be the fourth, given the way Moriarty was acting.

At which point, Mycroft considered himself at liberty to speculate on the inevitable results of hubris.


	27. Chin's POV

Chin's entire life, her family and people had been preparing to go to war with the Federation. All with a goal of regaining Earth.

Some Alignments considered Earth their destiny. They'd destroyed the world where they'd founded their civilization. Others just wanted to survive.

Her years on the Bakerstreet had been a revelation. An illumination. Beta Humans had been nothing like what she'd expected. Other races showed a different face when sailing around on a starship exploring than when negotiating for resources. 

Than when burrowing into bases in Federation space under the guise of mining asteroids. 

When she told her parents that Moriarty had tried to destroy the Bakerstreet multiple times, they'd dismissed it. "You were invading their territory," said Father Meiying. 

She hadn't been there when Moriarty had taken everyone's memory, but Billy had described it. She hadn't been there when Moriarty swapped Sherlock's body with some Betas, but Sherlock had described it.

Moriarty couldn't be trusted. He didn't want to win. He wanted to destroy.

She and Chin arrived at the main mining station in the Telas asteroid belt. Holograms hollowing out the rock in the place of slaves, who had labored there twenty years before. Chin didn't mention that. 

She didn't talk about the ever threatening war.

She breathed Billy's scent and they talked about how Earth wasn't in either of their destinies. It was a place left behind.


	28. Stonn POV

The effects of the Venusian flu lingered. Reducing productivity. Efficiency. In particular when he was ordered to go to the infirmary and stay there when flu turned into walking pneumonia. The shipyards, with so many Klingon crew, was damper than his lungs were evolved to handle. One of the Human crew on his tech team declared it moist. A joke it would seem based on cultural connotations connected with the word moist.

For Humans. 

Vulcan languages had no words for concepts such as moist. None of them seemed to comprehend his response for the equivalent Vulcan word for dry heat.

Kuvalaas, one of the Klingon engineers from the second shift, laid low with a broken arm, drove them out of the infirmary with curses and a knife in his non-dominant hand for the insult to his preferred air. For some reason, this caused him to wish to converse with Stonn. All the further when he discovered that Stonn's father had died at the hands of Romulans, as had his own.

They were both still remanded to the infirmary when the claxons sounded indicating an incoming attack, which given the distance from the active warzone and Federation sensors monitoring for just such a thing, was improbable to say the least. That was why there was only one battle cruiser assigned to patrol the system.

The base shielding was considerable.

It would be insufficient given the number of incoming craft mentioned over the coms.

He got out of bed and tightened the strings on his hospital gown.

"Where are you going?" asked Kuvalas.

Stonn considered this question. More than one individual would be ideal. He explained his plan. Kuvalas also rose from his sickbed. "Today is a good day to die."

"Ideally, we will avoid that," said Stonn, who did not intend to die. He certainly did not intend to die in bed.

He did take a moment to acquire his plaque. It was next to his tools and his somewhat working model of Captain Holmes' interphasic cloaking device.

Technically what he was about to do was a treaty violation with the Romulans, but he and Kuvalas agreed not to inform them. It wasn't sufficient for a large ship. A shuttle though would be fine. Kuvalas peered at the device. "How does it work?"

Stonn was not prepared to say that the only person who truly understood the device appeared to be Captain Holmes, which beyond treaty violations was the reason for its restricted use. "It will function." 

The shuttle bay would be swarming with individuals preparing for evacuation, who might object to his plan.

However, among other things produced at Tri-Rho Nautica was shuttles and shuttlepods.Given the evacuation, it was quite empty. Fortunate, as he and Kuvalas had neglected to acquire other clothing than their hospital gowns. 

Once on board, Stonn had Kuvalas beam as many items, ship paneling ideally, as was possible into the shuttlepod's admittedly small cargo hold, while he attached the interphase cloak.

Even though, they'd phased through the base shielding to depart, Kuvalas appeared to think that as they headed straight for the leading Dominion ship that Stonn was attempting some sort of suicide bombing run. He shouted some Klingon phrase about death and honor. 

Stonn said mildly as they phased into the Dominion ship, searching for a sufficiently large location to come to a halt. "Didn't you believe my explanation?"

"They say many things about the Bakerstreet. Most believe these words to be lies." Kuvalas nodded. "Should we survive, I will tell all the truth of the tales."

For all they'd just started, Stonn felt very tired and somewhat dizzy. However, shuttle sensors indicated that the base shielding was down to thirty percent. He said, "To operate the transporter, I will need to turn off the cloak. As I am piloting, you are in charge of using the transporter."

"To do what? Are we boarding their ship?"

Stonn sighed. "No, please beam one of the panels currently in our hold into their warp core."

Kuvalas' eyes widened and then he laughed. "It is an even better day for the deaths of our enemies." Stonn briefly brought the ship into phase, to the consternation of the Vorta in the galley.  As soon as he heard, "Panel's away," Stonn reset the cloak.

In time for flashing red alerts, and the ship to explode slightly behind where they had been. They affected the same maneuver three times before the interphase cloak's energy signature spiked. Stonn examined the device. Each time they had phased through a solid object, the neutrino levels in the device became less stable. Making it more likely that they would remain out of phase.

He was coaxing the device through one more pass through a Dominion ship, when the device emitted a low beeping noise, and exploded.


	29. Ji-Yoo Cho's POV

"Sir, with all due respect, we're only twenty minutes away from Tri-Rho Nautica," said Ji-yoo.

Captain Lord said, "Your concerns have been noted. But the Californian isn't rated to handle ten Dominion heavy cruisers." His lips quirked in what he probably thought was an amusing way. "It's not rated to handle ten light cruisers. We'll forward the message onto fleet command and hold for reinforcements."

Ji-yoo's fingers itched. If this was the Bakerstreet, they'd already be flying there.

If this were the Bakerstreet, they might pull off the rescue. 

But for all the Bakerstreet hadn't exactly been the strictest of ships on military discipline, Donovan had run a tight team. Ji-yoo had ten years under her belt.

"Aye, aye, sir." She went back to monitoring the com channels and readying the weapon's crews in case Lord changed his mind.


	30. Violet Hunter's POV

Crewman Rostron said, "Captain Arthur, incoming distress signal, sir. It's the Tri-Rho Nautica shipyards. They're under attack. Ten Dominion heavy cruisers."

Captain Arthur said, "Hunter, you've got the most experience, take Nav, and plot our fastest course there."

Violet's fingers flew over the calculations. Their helmsman, who's previous position had been piloting freighters, was protesting that even on full speed, the USS Carpathian, an old Constitution Class ship, didn't have the speed to get there sooner than thirty hours. Their weapons officer, who'd worked civilian security, brought up that they couldn't possibly take on that many ships.

Violet kept calculating. 

Arthur said, "We're not going to fight. Rescue and recon. I need a plan for evading Dominion ships while we pick up our people from escape pods."

Violet couldn't let herself think that Stonn was stationed on Tri-Rho Nautica. Couldn't let herself think about Sestre.

"Got it, sir. Twenty-three hours."

"Hunter, engage. Get down to Engineering. I need to cut that down to ten, and a plan for upping our shields. Tviya, let the convoy and the Titan know we're breaking off to render aid to Tri-Rho Nautica." 

Hunter headed for Engineering. Consulted. By putting power to the forward shields, turning off power to non-key systems, and cutting heat to the lower decks was, they shaved the trip down to ten hours. Dodging debris as soon as they came in system. 

The shipyard was, unsurprisingly, destroyed. 

What was surprising there was a fair amount of debris from Dominion ships that interfered with their ability to move in system. They moved slowly, searching for life signs. Escape pods. Captain Arthur's experience running search and rescue was the only reason they spotted the remnants of a shuttlepod, phasing in and out of a Dominion fuselage. Two faint lifesigns inside when it phased back into normal space.

"Hunter, you've dealt with something like this before," was becoming a familiar refrain. 

"Yes, sir," said Violet. Fifteen minutes later she was leading a team in anti-grav gear slipping into the shuttle as it shuddered into phase. Inside there was limited atmosphere. Limited oxygen. The only reason a melted lump of metal and plastic wasn't still on fire. Two figures. She monitored the stability of that area of space, while medics stabilized the patients. Parts of their bodies phasing and out of reality even as they got them out of the shuttle and manually towed them back onto the Carpathian. When one of the tech crew, Terrance, nice guy, used to rebuild twentieth century cars on New Manchester, asked, "Why don't we transport back?"

She kept towing. "Ask me later about transporter accidents."

On board, she womaned up and got them to Sickbay. Their EMH, who'd asked to be called EMH said, "I'm sorry, there's nothing in the Starfleet database to deal with this scenario." 

She broke her own jogging record heading down to her quarters. Fumbled the call at first. Hands trembling a little as she made it. Skidded back up to Sickbay. 

She broke her own jogging record heading down to her quarters. Fumbled the call at first. Hands trembling a little as she made it. Skidded back up to Sickbay. 

That's when she saw who the second person was. 

The EMH was dealing with minor burns and broken limbs from other rescued personnel. The portable mini-emitter didn't have a far range. Julian flashed into shape. He wasn't connected into the ship medical systems. She was his gopher. Hands. Getting med scanners for him to read. Medical tools. They worked with few words. Doing what they could. Stabilizing a friend and a stranger.

Julian said, "You'll need to keep a watch on Klingon. He may try to commit suicide." He grimaced. "See if you can convince him the lost limbs are a badge of honor. Talk up how he can put weapons into his prosthetics."

"Sensitivity to injury is part of Starfleet Medical files for Klingon personnel," said the EMH with a bright and friendly smile.

Julian glanced at the EMH. An expression she didn't think she'd ever seen on his face before. Annoyance. He leaned over. "I've never acted like that, have I?"

"No, love," she kissed his cheek. 

They both looked at Stonn. Stable. Like the Klingon, missing his legs from mid thigh down. But alive.

Violet kind of knew what Julian would say next from that little fold by his left eye. "I'm afraid times up. But," his smile was wide. Brilliant in his face. "I sent you the device to use. It'll take a few weeks to purge properly. Well, purge after it confirms I made it back, but please use it."

With that he was gone. Leaving her looking at the space where he'd been.

"How did you get another emitter?" "I didn't know we could spin up another EMH." "How did he even know what to do?"

She said absently, "That wasn't an EMH. That was my husband." She left Sickbay to make her report to Arthur. The emitter warm in her pocket.


	31. Greg Lestrade's POV

"Will someone tell me how the Dominion got through our the defenses to attack Tri-Rho Nautica? Anyone?" said Greg, grinding his teeth in a way he was going to regret. 

Greg did not generally approve of management by shouting, but the star maps made no sense. Even on cloak, they'd have had to get across all of Federation space. Tri-Rho Nautica was on the border with the Gorn and the Klingons for Christ's sakes. Nowhere near the Cardassians and the majority of the fighting.

"We're looking into it sir," said his liaison with Starfleet Intelligence. Starfleet idiocy. 

Greg looked at him. 

Just looked at him.

Greg profoundly did not want to have to do what he then did. Profoundly. He sighed. "Send the scans to Holmes on the Bakerstreet. Have him look into it. If he needs to, he's to consider himself ordered to examine the site directly."

"But sir, Captain Holmes is currently engaged in," said Lieutenant P'ior.

"No matter how useful Captain Holmes is in tactical operations, do you honestly think anything is more important than figuring out how to prevent the Dominion from attacking our bases from out of nowhere?" Greg rubbed his very tired eyes. He was really tired right then.

"Yes, sir. Immediately."


	32. Sherlock's POV

The conclusion was obvious. 

The key was the sensors that had not allerted in the long night of space.

Sensitive short range sensor arrays designed to track warp signatures from cloaked ships had not identified the massive warp signature of a fleet of cloaked ships. It was practically the first thing the Federation had done once war was declared. Deploy hundreds of thousands of sensor buoys along surveyed routes. Long range sensor sweeps from bases and planets along areas near active fighting had not observed uncloaked ships traveling in that trajectory. Therefore the ships had not travelled along surveyed routes. 

It was possible the ships had made the journey along unsurveyed route, but the probability of encountering an anomaly along that distance was too high to even calculate. Therefore it was improbable they had traveled along unsurveyed routes.

Analysis of earlier, smaller raids indicated an escalating pattern of attacks on small outposts outside the operational theater of war. Seemingly random. Pin pricks. So, far all within the realm of reason for a small task force, or a single ship, to slip by undetected.

Lestrade should have called him in much sooner. 

It was highly probable that Lestrade hadn't even realized there was a pattern until the Dominion overplayed their hand.

_ "You know the answer," said Mycroft. _

_ "The Dominion would be an aggressive enemy on their border," said First Father. _

_ "Unless they were an ally," said Mummy. _

_ "Until they turn around and betray us," said Second Father. "Or we betray them first." _

Sherlock opened his eyes. Reviewed the deep space telemetry between the closest Breen mining facility in Federation space. Although, of course, how many minerals were left to mine was subject to question. Saw the expected mild warping of space in that area.

He told Hudson, "Tell Lestrade to look at Breen mining operations in the asteroid belt in the Ianis System." With those words, he felt as if he'd cut something that he hadn't known was there.

So much concealment over the years. The Federation was his home.

He said, "The Breen are most likely providing resources to the Dominion. Building ships. Clones. It would account how they keep replenishing their reserves."

"I've been warning Command about that," said Hudson crossly. She frowned. "Oh, dear. That was brazen of them." 

He turned to look at her. She returned the look with a slight tilt to her head. "I do have a source, dear."

He did not say, "Billy." He did say, "Send my report marked Obvious Pattern to Lestrade, Oh, and tell Lestrade not to ask me to visit a location for less than a seven."


	33. Greg Lestrade's POV

"Well, fuck," said Greg.

The day simply couldn't have decided to get better. Have Holmes identify a previously unknown space route.  

It wasn't even his first bad news of the day.

When the Klingons had taken the Cardassian garrison on Septimus III, it hadn't been a surprise that they'd killed all the prisoners. 

That was Klingons. Their allies. But Klingons.

"What do you want to do Admiral?" asked Lieutenant P'ior.

Starfleet had opted to release the news of the attack on Tri-Rho Nautica. They'd had to explain the reason for increased security at civilian sites. They had also opted to release word of the massacre of the colonists on Sherman's Planet. A message from the Dominion that what the Federation could build, the Dominion could destroy. 

As a result, recruitment was up by twenty-seven percent.

He wasn't Holmes to calculate a direct result, but he could speculate just fine. A few hours after landing newly trained space marines to take back Minos Korva colony, five marines, kids, not a one of them older than eighteen, killed the Cardassians who'd surrendered to them. Lined them up and shot them. 

Something Greg remembered from the Academy keep going on repeat in his head. "In war, the moral to the physical is three to one." Napoleon could have remembered that before the Peninsular wars, but it was still true. Recruitment had to stay twenty-seven percent. Civilians had to be willing to give up replicators and holosuites and volunteer at their local reclamation centers. Recruitment needed to go up.

Feeling like shite, tar on his soul, he said, "On my order, delete the logs. Put it in the Cardassians died in a firefight." 


	34. Harry Watson's POV

Harry stared at the warden. She stared some more. That didn't change what the man had just said. Finally she just had to fucking woman up and ask. "Are you honestly offering to commute my sentence for multiple murders in the first degree?" She let the words trill off the tongue with an actor's skill. "A lifetime sentence with no possibility of parole." Another rise in declamation that would have made Mum proud. "All in exchange for one year digging rocks in a mine?"

"Yes," said the warden.

She looked at the tablet. "Is mining dilithium particularly dangerous?"

"Of course not," said the warden looking Lady Bracknell levels of discommended at the very importunity of the idea. She amused herself briefly imagining him in the role. Although, whether she should play Gwendolyn or an Earnest wasn't quite sure.

"Then why the...why exactly are you making this offer?" asked Harry trying not to feel like a maiden talking to a lascivious lord in the pre-revenge part of a Jacobean revenge drama.

The warden pushed the tablet further. "The War Office asked that I identify model prisoners with exemplary behavior."

Harry noted that didn't exactly explain why. She didn't precisely want to talk herself out of her freedom, but something was very off about this. Very off. "Who was doing the mining before now?"

"Ah," said the warden brightly, as if that was an easy answer. Was relieved she hadn't asked something difficult. "Mark 1 Holograms. The Federation had initiated the program to free citizens from tedious tasks such as mining to focus on higher endeavors."

"Federation citizens don't need to be free anymore. Although, I suppose felons fit the bill of unfree."

The warden pushed the tablet a little bit forward. "The mine director is finding the power constraints for running the holograms prohibitive. And since dilithium is critical to the war effort, the War Office authorized this program."

Harry knew she was going to regret it, but she signed away her life on the dotted line. But it made her really want to ask John just how the fuck the war effort was going, because pulling prisoners to do shite work made her arse twitch.

It was still twitching when she and fifty other prisoners were loaded into a transport. Technically her arse and the rest of her was asleep when the transport shuddered to a halt.

Since she was in restraints, she couldn't do much of anything when Breen pirates boarded the ship and stunned - hopefully - the crew. 

Creepy fuckers stood there scanning everyone. There was some chirping noises between them before they freed some dozen prisoners. Everyone of them Human Augment, she couldn't help but notice.

As they hauled her out onto their ships, she kicked an armored leg, which mostly hurt her foot, and yelled in her own best Lady Bracknell impression, "What is the meaning of this?"

Surprisingly, one of the Breen answered. Admittedly, "Everything," didn't tell her much.

Harry was in a good position to look out the view port when the the Breen ship fired on the transport.  See as it exploded. So much space dust. "Why? What could they have possibly done to you?"

Again, surprisingly she got an answer. "If they had left you where you were, safe and secure, we would have done nothing. But we cannot risk discovery now and we certainly could not risk you to the low level radiation of a dilithium mine."

The Breen actually sounded upset. Which fine, they'd just killed a lot of people, she hoped it was very upset.

She hoped that all the way to solitary. Sat there in a very secure, very empty cell. Except, on one side of the room was a bunk with a tablet on it. She turned it on. It contained an extensive vid collection of every play her parents had ever been in. A collection of some three thousand other plays from Human history.

There were at least thirty versions of the Lady of the Flowers. From that all simulated version a few years back to a fascinating version in the round at the Greek theater in Corinth.

"Well, fuck me," she told the empty room and sat down on the bunk to watch a play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Importance_of_Being_Earnest


	35. John's POV

"Captain Lestrade, they're all so young." John scrolled through the list of dead and wounded on his tablet.

Captain Lestrade nodded wearily. Her fading red hair caught up in a drooping bun. "And they keep coming." She refilled his tea cup, playing mother. "And John, I've told you to call me Beverley. We're both captains here." 

Captains, but not equals. Beverley was his commanding officer. In charge of the MASH units, such as they were, for the Seventh Fleet.

"Old habits." He rubbed his eyes. Looked at the monitor where they had been conferring on how best to coordinate in the upcoming troop maneuvers.

Since the war began, the casualties had been enormous. Like nothing the Federation had experienced since the Romulan war over a century before. 

Irreplaceable lives. Every life was some mother's child.

John was getting maudlin again. "If we can just get some more evac units to get these kids to real hospitals, we can reduce casualties by about fourteen percent. And I need Admiral Lestrade to lift the one hour limit on the holographic doctors. I need them for at least sixteen hour bursts. Maybe a full twenty-four hours."

"John," she said, quirking her lips, "I always swore that the only way I would use a holographic doctor in my sickbay was if I wanted to throw one at a Borg. Now I have a ship full of them."

He gave her a look.

She sighed "Just because I used to be married to Greg doesn't mean that I have any more pull with him than you do."

"You did keep the last name." He took an innocent sip of scalding Earl Grey. "And he hasn't asked me to call him Greg."

She conceded the point and made a note for herself. They made their way through more planning. Until she slid her tablet away from her. "Let's talk about anything that's not the war and," she smiled amused at herself, "I must admit I'm very curious. You're not quite what I pictured from what I'd heard about you."

"What did you hear?" asked John. Since the war began, this was the most contact he'd had with his commander other than a request that he please flying his ship like a raceship, the maintenance crews in refit were beginning to rebel, and a commendation for lives saved. 

Never enough.

"When I asked personnel who I should promote to run a MASH unit, your name was top of the list with eight separate people."

"Oh," said John. "Even though I make maintenance cry."

"Enough though." She sipped her tea. "Although, really if La Forge contacts me again about you, I really will have to do something. Change your pilot maybe."

John snorted. She wouldn't. He knew that at least.

"Given that. What's Captain Holmes actually like? Anything at all like what they say?"

"They don't tend to say it to me, so that's hard for me to tell," said John stalling.

She gave him a look.

"He's more." John felt as if he'd lost a limb. A part of himself. One of the important ones. A leg. An arm. His heart. "More brilliant. More arrogant." He smiled softly. "More handsome." Another sip, less scalding this time. "Basically, everything they say about us Augments, but uninterested in war and dominating everything. Actually…" he stopped himself. Picking scabs on his heart wouldn't help.

He turned the conversation back to the war.

That's what he was doing when he got word from Mum of all people. Of all the lives he held in his heart, Harry's had been the one he hadn't even considered worrying about during the war.

He wanted to rage at the War Office for putting her in danger. He wanted to rage at the Dominion for trying to break his Federation.

He wanted Sherlock. He needed Sherlock. That night, found himself spending a solid hour sniffing a scarf Sherlock had given him the last leave they'd shared. Made himself stop. Made himself lock his grief for Harry in a box. The one right next to the impossible possibilities.

Made himself take a soother and go to sleep.

Because the next day was going to have its own share of horrible and some kid's life would depend on how rested he was.


	36. Moriarty's POV

For the first time in his life, for the first time in the existence of Changelings, or so he was led to believe, Moriarty was sick.

By the time the third a Cardassian told him, "Not holding it up so well are we?" Moriarty shot him.

By the time Damar said, "Stick your great link into someone you shouldn't have," Moriarty was ready to kill every Cardassian. But the other Changelings, just as damaged, just as ill, wouldn't let him. They seemed to think they needed the Cardassians for something.

He wasn't sure for what. They were doing an excellent job at losing the territory that the Dominion had given them.

It was the Federation. He knew it. He looked at the cohesion of his right arm that was a bit sticky. "Oh, you little scamps. You rascals. I didn't know you had it in you."

"My apologies, Founder. Moriarty. Founder," said the Vorta scientist. "We haven't been able to determine a stabilization mechanism for the virus." 

He considered killing her, but decided he'd give her a week. In any case, what he needed was the Federation research that had generated the virus. But they were checking for Changelings at every level of every Federation station. Such paranoid people. It was as if they thought something was out to get them.

What the Dominion of the Alpha Quadrant needed was more military might. Not clones. Not Cardassians who were beginning to whine about losses. Whine about a need for a breathing period. A truce. Peace.

What he needed was an infuriated and furious military of a people who'd shown themselves well and truly capable of focusing on just one thing, and doing whatever it took to get there.

He just had to find the right pressure point. Fortunately, that was his speciality.


	37. John's POV

John wasn't in the first wave of Federation officers when Starfleet retook DS9. 

A dangerous gamble, but necessary given the Dominion had destroyed the last mine by the simple method of flying ships into it until they were all gone faster than the mines could replicate.

The Federation and the Klingon fleet defeated a force three times their size. He was treating crew crushed under bulkheads and flooded with radiation and lives slipping through his fingers as often has he caught them.

He wasn't even aware of Benjamin Sisko's desperate attempt to get the wormhole aliens to cut off Dominion resupply from the Gamma quadrant. It worked. He just wasn't aware of it.

He was there when Benjamin served a hasty dinner of John didn't even want to know what meat and possibly pure volcanic lava given the heat of the spices.

Major Kira looked fondly at the dish. "You made Hasperat."

"It seemed appropriate," said Sisko. "Bajor is my home." Then more softly he said, "How's Odo?"

She shook her head. "Recovering."

"What was wrong with Odo?" asked John drinking milk to regain his sense of taste.

Bashir put down his fork angrily. "The Federation. Section 31 is what's wrong." He glared at the plate. "They infected him with a virus so he could transfer it to the other Changelings through the Great Link." He shook his head. "We're what's wrong. They won't tell me how to cure Odo, because that information could be used to cure the other Changelings. It amounts to genocide. Is that what we've become?"

"Julian," said Sisko in a warning tone, "We've discussed this. The cure is a bargaining chip."

Bashir stood up angrily.

John excused himself from this family squabble and went back to the Hippocrates.

He couldn't feel his lips or mouth. He told himself that it was the spices from the food.

But if the best of humanity could think that way, he wasn't sure where that left him.


	38. Sherlock's POV

The fleet was celebrating prematurely.

The new weapons Sherlock had fitted to the Bakerstreet had worked better than expected. The short range imploder lance had – as it name indicated – quite adequately imploded those Cardassian ships in the Bakerstreet's near vicinity. While the improvements to the phaser bank yield and photon torpedo capacity had been adequate as well.

Dull. Innovations in weaponry were his parents' passion, not his own.

It did make Sherlock wonder about the other Sherlock. The bearded one on the other side of the mirror. The one inventing weapons to destroy worlds.

The Bakerstreet had been somewhat more in the thick of the action at the battle of Chin'toka than was the norm thus far in the war.

But it was a premature celebration.

That the Allies had taken the Chin'toka system was a blow to the Dominion-Cardassian industrial capacity was true, but it was not yet time to celebrate. The Breen had yet to say that they would stop supplying the Dominion with resources. 

They were idiots if they couldn't see that it wasn't over.

Still, it meant he could sit across a table on the USS Enterprise and look at John.

John looked tired. Worn and weary.

John had been gone from the Bakerstreet for 456 days. Not that they hadn't seen each other. Fleeting visits. Brief moments of breathing each other's air. But it had been 456 days and eighteen hours since they'd nested in peace.

"Sherlock!"

John gestured for Sherlock to get up. "You're on."

Admiral Lestrade crossed his arms. "If you're quite ready, Captain Holmes."

"Greg," said Captain Crusher-Lestrade. "Let's give Captain Holmes a moment." She smiled at Sherlock encouragingly.

Sherlock stood up. "This is pointless. All the details are in my briefing. Hand my designs over to your engineers. If they are remotely competent, they should be follow my instructions."

"Still," said John, "I know you want to show us all how smart you are."

That was primarily why Sherlock did not want to present. John's praise was a drug that he must do without. To take another hit now – once an addict always an addict - could only result in having to recover all over again.

He went over the details that none of the captains understood. Although, Starfleet's head of fleet engineering, Commander La Forge asked some cogent questions.

Finally, Sherlock was able to sit down and stop speaking. To retreat. To see the separation of distance between himself and John.

When the meeting broke up, John came over. They spoke words. Sherlock counted them. Analyzed John's scent. Was duly introduced to boring people. It was pointless. Painful. Sherlock closed his fists and held on.

Abruptly, John stopped. "Right." He took Sherlock's clenched fist and pulled him out the door. Said the obvious. "We don't have long."

As if Sherlock didn't know that. As if he didn't know every moment was a countdown.

John pushed him through a door. Took him apart. Put him back together. Let him float as they walked around that room after. 

Let go as they parted to go to their respective ships.

He thought of that other Sherlock. Inventing weapons to destroy worlds to please his John. To hold him close and give him everything.

Certainly, Sherlock understood him.

He didn't wish to, but he did.


	39. Connor's POV

Connor spent exactly one day in the Ass class.

Emphasis on ass.

The eight year old and the ten year old were just bratty. Answering every question with a kind of mean question. 

But the seventeen and eighteen year old  were full of the self importance of thinking they were the center of the universe and everything revolved around them. He listened to them all for one hour, before asking the teacher to transfer back. Which resulted in a really strange conversation with two teachers and the principal, who wanted him to know that it was Copernic-Ass and Ass-istotle's way of showing him they liked him. 

Not their actual names, but if they were going to be Ass-centric, that was what he was going to call them.

Grandfather stared at him. "I'm not sure what that means." So, Connor pinged Caorthannach, who thought it was so funny he sent it to Fenrir, who wrote a song about asses who had Earth and Sol centric views of the universe, when everyone knew the center of the Milky Way was a giant asshole. It had a lot of swearing in it, but was really funny.

She wasn't even goofing off, because Connor knew mid-morning on Monday meant his old class was studying literature.

"Connor, please put down your tablet and talk to me." 

Connor put down his tablet. 

Grandfather said, "They were simply nervous. They wanted to impress you."

Connor could only say, "They failed. Please, transfer me back and," he tried to think how to say what he had to say next, "you might want to spend a little more time teaching them to see things from other people's perspectives instead of trying to bend the world to get other people to see things from theirs." 

Which somehow turned into it being Connor's job to take Copernic-ass and Ass-istotle to meet his friends at school during lunch.

Wiglaf had spent the weekend with his dad in the Red Zone, which generally made him really excited. But he was kind of subdued talking about it. Probably because of the asses snickering about Red Zone losers.

In the middle of his story, Wiglaf sneezed and started coughing.

Copernic-ass and Ass-istotle burst out laughing. Copernic-ass said, "Loser." 

Fenrir had been really quiet. She got him another box of tissues from the replicator. He'd had several tissues already when Connor got there. Caorthannach moved closer to Wiglaf. 

"What's so funny. It's just a sneeze," said Connor, who had admittedly never been sick, but a sneeze didn't mean anything.

"Sickies aren't good enough to go to the Gold Zone," said Ass-istotle.

Connor said, "Oh, for…" Tried to distract them all by talking about some of the stranger diseases to hit the Bakerstreet. 

Wiglaf kept wiping at his nose. Coughing. 

Connor didn't want to call attention to it, but his scent was weird. Different. He'd have said something, but he didn't want the asses to laugh even more. He wanted to ask why Ms. Melusine hadn't sent him to the Infirmary.

"Eww…" said Ass-istotle, "You're such a loser you're actually bleeding."

Connor looked. The tissue was turning bright red. Drops of blood were coming from Wiglaf's nose. There was a pink liquid trickling from his ears. Connor said, "We need to get away from people."

Fenrir said, "What is it?" 

Wiglaf coughed more. Bright blood on his hands. Fenrir tried to help him, but Connor yelled. "No, stay away from him. You'll get infected. You may already be infected." Kids were standing up. A crowd was gathering around them. "Everyone, back away. Wiglaf's infected. Go to your classrooms. Avoid touching anyone. Replicate decontaminant and rub it on your hands. Go." Because of the urgency of his tone or something, they cleared out of the room. 

He wasn't sure if would help, but it couldn't hurt. 

Wiglaf doubled over, coughing. He told the Asses, "Go find Ms. Melusine or any of the other A.S. teachers. But don't let any A.I. teachers come near us."

"I don't have to do what you say," said Ass-istotle.

"You're the only ones who probably can't be infected. We need help." Connor wrapped an arm around Wiglaf. Holding him up. Wiglaf's face was waxy and grey. Sweating. 

Fenrir sneezed. Her eyes were wide. Scared.

Connor said, "We're going to the infirmary." He tried to remember who was in there. If they were an A.I. or an A.S. He wished there was a hologram. 

Wiglaf put more and more of his weight on Connor as they made their way there. In the distance, he heard some sort of siren. There was no one in the infirmary. Connor wasn't a doctor. He didn't know what to do.

Fenrir's breathing was getting ragged now. Caorthannach had begun to sneeze.

He said, "Maybe lie down."

Wiglaf coughed. Hard painful sounds. Choking on phlegm and blood. Connor got him onto a bed. Turned him onto his side. 

There was a communicator on the wall. He put in the emergency number. When the operator responded, he said, "There's some sort of sickness at the school."

The person at the other end said, "It's in Green Zone? Where are you?"

Connor looked back at his friends and told them. He said, "Please hurry." He couldn't just do nothing. He got a med scanner and ran a scan. Wiglaf's lifesigns were wildly all over the place. His temperature was five degrees lower than it should have been. Connor told the emergency operator what he'd seen, while replicating blankets. 

He was wrapping one around Caorthannach when people in Hazmat suits came in. They beamed away with his friends. He stood there alone with another blanket still in the pile.

He turned off the com. Transferred a copy of the scan to his school computer account. He was just putting the scanner down when someone came and took him to a decontamination unit. Ms. Melusine was there. There was a smear of blood on her face. She was pale. 

She told Copernic-ass to be quiet when he complained about washing down with decontam gel. Her expression fierce. "We cannot afford to contaminate anyone else. We cannot. Use the gel!"  They were all irradiated until their skin turned pink. A Beta Human's skin would have burned. Wiglaf's skin would have burned.

Connor put on freshly replicated clothes. Had an orange blanket wrapped around his shoulders when Grandfather arrived. 

Grandfather wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. His scent warm and comforting. "I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you."

"I'm right here, but, Grandfather," Connor pulled away, "is Wiglaf okay? Fenrir? Caorthannach? Everyone else?"

Grandfather said, "The sickness has been contained in the school. Beginning in the Red Zone. Caorthannach and Fenrir have been put in cryo-genic stasis."

"And Wiglaf?"

His grandfather's expression was answer enough. Connor held his blanket tight around his shoulders. He said, "Nothing that virulent could be natural. If Wiglaf just got whatever this is, it shouldn't have gotten far enough for him to infect other people."

"I am…" Grandfather suddenly looked like someone who could drop bombs on cities, "aware. When we determine the cause, there shall be retribution."

Connor shivered. "Just be sure you get the right people." But looking at Grandfather, he wasn't sure he would wait. 

Connor ran an analysis of the virus, but the computer didn't recognize it. Connor didn't know what to do with the computer not knowing. He didn't know where the Bakerstreet was, but he did know where Eva was living. He sent her the information and asked her to have her mom look at it. 

Emerged from his room to find Grandfather growling at a monitor. Grandfather said, "Now we know what your precious Federation is willing to stoop to."

"What do you mean?" Connor did not like the sound of that. He hadn't liked the sound of anything all day. He thought of Wiglaf and he just ached.

"A manual review of the cameras monitoring entry into the Red Zone have identified a known Federation agent with a grudge against Augments. The Beta who kidnapped you and your mother. Kidnapped John. He assessed the central processing platform for the Red Zone replicators." 

Connor looked at the the screen. He recognized Killander's half turned face in the security footage. Would never forget him. But his face looked weird. Slightly distorted. "What's wrong with his face?"

"We gave him to the Dominion to serve as labor for their needs before I knew what he had done to you and Billy. Now…" Grandfather's eyes were almost glowing in the light from the monitor. "Whatever damage was done to him by the Dominion or in escaping them will be nothing to what we will do when we find him."

There something didn't make any sense to Connor. He tried talking about it with Grandfather, but he wouldn't listen. Grandfather yelled at him for sending a message to his traitorous Federation friends.

Connor got upset. Angry. He yelled back and stomped to his room and tried to think. All he could think about was Wiglaf. He tried to send Eva another message, but his account had been locked. Connor glared at the computer. 

"None of this makes sense." 

The computer didn't answer him. He tried to think how he could get answers. Wiglaf and whoever else had died deserved answers.


	40. Sestre's POV

Sestre listlessly looked at the enlistment page. He was seventeen. With Starfleet dropping the enlistment age for most species, he could begin a fast track course at the Academy. Within a year, he could be serving on a starship.

If the Vulcan Genetics Council would allow it. He should make a sperm donation. That's all they wanted him for anyway. That's all any of them wanted.

He wanted to be of service as his father had been. His father was being kept in a coma while his body healed from the results of his heroism Tri-Rho Nautica. If he did wake, he'd never walk again. At least not on his own legs. Never get to serve on a ship.

He was still staring at the page when he got the ping that a communication had come in. Full of static. It was Connor. He said, "Sestre, I don't have much time. Routing this through...doesn't matter. These are the real coordinates for the real Beta Aurigae. There was some sort of viral attack here. They all think it was the Federation, but I don't think so. I need help figuring this out." The message ended.

Sestre closed the enlistment page.

There was more than one way of being of service.

Of course, upon closure, he realized his own inadequacy to the task. Still, there was no need to assume he must take on this task alone.

He put a note on the food. Left with a light step and took a commercial transport for Andor.

This might very well call for a highly inadvisable plan. For that, he would need Thil. He suspected Thil would know how to steal a transport, which would put an end to his Starfleet career before it began.

Also, he'd need help from Eva and Shor, because Thil's plans often went awry.


	41. Chin's POV

Chin was terrified.

The last year had been in some ways the best of her life. Travelling with Billy. Quiet conversations. Talking about entertainment, Billy had a soft spot for twentieth century films and books, which given Chin's parents, Chin was mildly familiar with.

More than that. Dreams. Aspirations. 

The possibility of perhaps, at some point, children.

Chin had blushed and Billy had blushed, and admitted he wouldn't mind another boy or girl. Especially since he'd had Connor so young. Unplanned. It would be nice to plan.

Certainly, her parents talked about that a good deal more than she liked. Mainly if Billy had slept with any Humans in this century. Father Meiying said it was because that was only vector for the Ti-Lia strain of the retro-virus, but it made Chin very uncomfortable.

Odd fate to think that in one population the disease made reproduction nearly impossible without artificial means and difficult even then, while in the other it had no affect. Except to make it impossible for them to reproduce successfully with the other population.

Bizarre to have her parents go from talking about becoming grandparents to what they would do when the retook Earth. How to do it without casualties, by which they meant Augment casualties. By which they meant their tiny Alignment. By which they meant the Breen with their falling birthrates.

All the sort of thing that made Chin not want Billy to meet her parents. Especially given she knew Billy was feeding information to Hudson on the Bakerstreet. Nothing too important. Things that should be known. Out in the open. So they could all move on from the past.

But her parents had let her know it was past time to meet Billy. So, Chin had given Billy every possible warning and took Billy to meet them on a more neutral ground. The palace where Sherlock had once been kept.

It even had new inhabitants. As Mummy put it, "Sherlock left us a race of stray kittens to live in the walls, which was to to say that race that the Dominion have infected with a disease that killed them off slowly over centuries. Chin remembered them, the Auberj. Remembered straining the energy on the holosuite, the engines, Sherlock's interphasic cloak, all to stay ahead of the Dominion ships. Intent on killing the last members of a race that had dared to stand up to them.

So there, with the living representatives of what the Dominion could and would do, Chin had to hope. Use the genetic samples from Connor and Billy's DNA to reverse Ti-Lia's inadvertent infection, and once everyone knew how things were, everything would be fine. It would just be fine.

Father Meiying was dressed all in black leather that looked glued on, but no weapons. Scowled, which mean she was trying not to be intimidating. Mother wore a simple body suit and looked pale. Unapproachable. As always. 

Only Father Noonian did anything to alay Billy's slightly worried scent. He was charming as he led Billy on the tour of the palace. Dressed in a green Sikh's turban and a Khan's gold brocade. Father Noonian told the same old joke he always told about the original versions of the portraits in the Portrait Hall.

Here they were holograms, but they were the same pictures.

He wrapped up the one about Mummy saying, "And that is why that portrait is from the waist up," which had Billy laughing until his cheeks turned red.

Even Chin relaxed enough to chuckle when Mummy sighed. "You will always tell our guests that story."

Billy paused by a portrait of Mycroft looking solemn. He said, "I met the first Mycroft briefly. When I was being rescued. But by then, he had a scar, here." Billy rarely spoke about that time. Chin was fascinated to hear anything about that unknown brother.

That was when Chin saw the most amazing sight. Her mother's expression softened. Not th acquisitive potential for grandchildren, but melancholy happiness to hear Billy, answer every question in perfect detail. Even down to what Mycroft I had smelled like.

They sat in high backed uncomfortable chairs on the other side of the Portrait Hall talking about the past. Chin was glad Mycroft wasn't there. He didn't like hearing about his namesake. But then who would.

Billy even added details about his sister, Anthea. What kind of woman she'd been. Wonder of wonders actually reached over to Mummy and patted their hand. "You'd have liked her. She had a steel spine."

Mummy looked into their teacup, "I should have spoken to you years ago."

"Yes," agreed Billy. "We should have met long ago." He looked at Chin. "That's probably my fault. For a long time, I thought Chin had killed Grandfather and then when I did find out the truth, it was just all so confusing."

"Your caution is understandable," said Father Meiying, who was watching Billy just a little too intently for Chin's comfort. "You have gone through much."

Billy smiled, the little dimple Chin loved to kiss on its rare appearances on his cheek. A thoughtful smile. "It's surprising how many times a person can survive losing their liver. Kidneys. Spleen. At least," he looked fondly at Chin, leaned over and kissed her cheek in front of her parents, "Colonel Green never took my heart."

Chin felt if she was floating out of her body. As if angels from Mummy's love for Rococo architecture were about to take her by the hand. Managed. "For which I am grateful."

"Charming, as well as handsome," said Noonian with a wink at Chin. "You should do your best to hold onto this one."

"Trying, Father Noonian." She was also trying to keep her heart from flying out of her mouth and singing about Billy.

"There is no try. There is only do," said Father Meiying calmly, which had Billy bursting out in a startled laugh.

"Sorry, it's just… that's a line from Star Wars. The Empire Strikes Back. I knew Chin was familiar with the films, but..."

"Who do you think showed them to her," said Father Meiying, which had been true. Although, also accompanied by a critique of the villains of any movie.

Billy said, "I am a little more familiar with twentieth century earth films than most. Anthea would sneak them to me wherever I, and later Connor, were hiding."

"Ah, yes, your son," said Mummy with a significant look. "Would that Chin had thought to bring him with you."

Chin braced herself for the waterfall of criticism sure to come next, "Mummy!"

"No, I think was for the best." Billy put his hand on Chin's. "Let us all get to know each other. Connor is wonderful, but he does have a lot of energy and I'm afraid, there are some things he wants to convince you to do."

Mummy's smile was wistful. "I understand. Our Victorious was the same way."

"Our Mshindi Victorious," whispered Father Noonian touching the brooch on his tunic. The one that represented the children left behind. There was a lock of Victorious' braided hair. The perfect child.

Billy said, "I think all your children are ridiculously energetic." And told them the story of the first time he'd met Chin, when she was still covered in some sort of oil from reigniting the engine core, and hair slightly singed from an electrical overload.

Chin couldn't believe it. She, of course, strongly remembered the occasion, but didn't think it had the same place in Billy's memory. "They wouldn't believe me when I told them I didn't need to go to sickbay."

"So we sat next to each other in biobeds we didn't need."

"I didn't think you even noticed me," said Chin. Wishing her parents to another reality so she could kiss Billy.

"I was a little overwhelmed." Billy looked at her parents and shrugged. "You know. Time travel. Twenty-fourth century ship. Rescue from a dungeon." He reached over to squeeze her hand. "But I have excellent recall. You made a wonderful impression. The way you talked to Connor. Helped calm him down. When I had time to think about it, I couldn't help but think you'd make an excellent father."

"So," said Mummy elongating the word, "you are not adverse to having more children."

Chin groaned. "Mother, we've only just begun discussing this."

"It's fine." Billy nudged his knee next to Chin's. "No. I think with the right person. In my right mind," he smiled wryly, "at the right time, yes. I would like Connor to have a little brother or sister. Maybe," the darling dimple again, "both."

Chin rubbed her foot against Billy's ankle.

"And, you left Earth shortly after Ti-Lia arrived," said Mummy, which why did they have to even mention it. Even worse said, "And you've been with no one but Chin since?"

"Mother!"

Billy shifted uncomfortably and took that last scone. Shredded it rather than eating it,  "Err… Ti-La, Connor mentioned hearing about her. She was the Breen who was sent to help Augments survive the purges."

"Better had they left well enough alone," said Father Meiying bitterly.

Father Noonian frowned. "Mei, make up your mind. Do want them to have interfered by rescuing us? To not interfere in saving our progeny so that they could thrive on Earth?"

"I want us to be able to thrive." Father Meiying slammed down her cup on the side table, shattering the cup and scattering tea. She stood up. Father Noonian stood to match her.

"Mother. Fathers. Can we not do this?" asked Chin desperately. "Haven't the other Alignments fought enough wars over this?"

"What I've been trying to understand," said Billy, putting down his cup. "Were you affected by the virus that Ti-Lia carried to Earth. I'm assuming," his smile was just a little off, "you haven't been chaste since you were revived."

Chin's heart sank further. Billy was trying to find something out about what was going on. She wished he'd just asked her. Her parents could be… they weren't stupid.

Father Noonian laughed, "No."

"Interesting," said Mummy. "You figured it out."

"There were a lot of clues," said Billy, who squeezed Chin's knee. "Don't look so worried."

Mummy said, "Good. I'd hate to think of Chin with someone dull. No, we," they quirked an eyebrow, "Superiors are unaffected. Our cells refuse to be rewritten by a virus designed to rewrite Inferior DNA. Though we possess all  the difficulties inherent to the very healing abilities that protect us. Even with artificial assistance. Two types of Augments. Three really. Two having the same, but different problems. While the third breeds on in ignorant bliss."

"Brittanus," said Father Meiying warningly. Still standing. Still facing off with Father Noonian.

"He should know." Brittanus' eyes flickered to Chin. "He is our daughter's chosen beloved. Has chosen him. Well, chosen. A map we may yet use to guide us from the valley of extinction. Mycroft chooses a Cardassian spy. While Sherlock's choice." Their soft smile shattered on an iceberg and Chin's heart fell another million meters. All hopes of a reasonable meeting lost. "Who through some miracle of chance was born with genetics that can reproduce with Superior and Breen alike, and yet who abandons my son so he can captain a ship. Aborts what we would so desperately care for. Nurture. Raise up to rule a new empire." The last was said with eyes narrowed to green ice chips.

Billy's face hardened. Chin silently thought, "Don't."

Billy said, "John has gone to fight in a war. To save lives. And I don't know anything about,"

"I do know," said Mummy. Their face absolutely pale. Fury radiating in electric waves. "I may have been forced to leave my first child behind. Forced to endure pregnancy after pregnancy until I had Mycroft. When one of the scientists who created me decided to have a taste," spittle flew as Mummy spoke, and once again Chin was glad Mycroft was not there, "of what he'd created. For all of that, I loved my son. Did what I could to protect him. As John claimed to love Sherlock when he married him. But when I scanned that… person. I saw the micro-scarring indicative of dozens of high order magnitude pregnancies. He was pregnant when he left our care on Breen." They spread their hands. "Where then is the happy announcement?"

"He could have miscarried," said Billy looking as sick as Chin felt.

Mummy barked a wordless, "Ha."

"And… and it's his choice. Not everyone wants to be a parent." Billy looked at Chin. Took her cold hand. Chin willed him to understand that she was nothing like her parents.

"His to choose, ours to choose again," said Father Noonian, because of course, all the parents had to go off the rails.

"There is, after all," said Father Meiying sitting back down and crossing her legs, "another." After a bland pause, she said, "That's from 'Return of the Jedi', the emperor."

"We're done here," said Billy getting to his feet. "I had hoped to convince you to help the Federation, to stop helping the Dominion. Help your Augment descendants, but I don't think they need your kind of help."

Just at the point that Chin didn't think it could get worse, it got so much worse. Melusine came into the room. Tears wet on her cheeks. "Great Khans. A tragedy. I could not send this. I had to come in person to tell you."

Billy asked, "Connor? Is there something wrong with Connor?"

"Your child is fine, but the other children... They, the Federation, they," Melusine at wiped her tears, "they dispersed a genetically engineered virus designed to kill Augments with the Ti-Lia variant. In the Red Zone, at first, but it got oug. Everyone in the Red Zone is dead. Multple deaths in the Green Zone before we contained it. Children. They're… frozen in our old containment units."

Father Noonian snarled. "Brit, I warned you when we learned that the Federation knew we were helping the Dominion that they'd retaliate."

"But," said Billy, "They would never," 

"You don't know what the Beta Humans would do," said Father Meiying.

"I beg your pardon," said Billy, "But I know exactly what they'll do. I've endured it, but the Federation would never do this."

"They've already done it. They infected the Changelings with a virus designed to prevent them from shifting shape." Mummy scowled. "Mycroft warned me, but I merely considered it a bargaining chip, not a warning of things to come."

"But, Terran Augments have the Ti-Lia variant. Federation citizens. The Federation would never create such a virus," said Billy.

"Your loyalty is misplaced," said Mummy. Face ice. Glacial. "This was a warning shot to let us know what they'd do if we came into the war on the side of the Dominion."

"But how did they know?" pleaded Mulusine. "The Breen have kept such secrecy. We have kept such secrecy. Even the location of our world isn't known." 

"I suspect," said Mummy looking at Billy, "that someone with suspect loyalties told them. After all the clues are there. You and Connor would be safe."

Billy's heart skipped a beat. Thundered in his chest. Scent blooming with the acrid scent of fear.

"Mother," said Chin, hardly knowing what she was begging them to do or not do. "Fathers. Please, Billy couldn't have thought they would do anything like this."

"And confirmation from someone who should have prevented him," said Mummy. "He'll have plenty of time to reconsider when the war is won and our people are safe."

Father Noonian smiled. The smile that generally came before something horrible. "We're all in. No more holding back."

"Time to remind Earth of the monsters they created," said Mummy. "Palace, guard protocol." Holographic guards appeared. "Take our guest into custody," with a glance at Chin, "Love is not an advantage, but one way or another, we need him."


	42. Owen's POV

His day really had started out perfectly. Good breakfast. Most important meal of the day, as he told his little bundle of Kray-kray.

Craig laughed wildly and threw cereal on the floor, walls and ceiling.

Melas' child, Hyperion, quietly ate cereal like a good little toddler.

Melas said, "Are you sure you can't take a day off to go to Earth. We're going to San Francisco. You could work a half day from Starfleet headquarters."

Owen laughed, "Mechanics doesn't quite work like that. Are you sure you want to take the Kray-meister with you when you visit your friends."

"They adore both of them," said Melas.

"In all fairness, they are adorable," said Owen peaceably. "Have a good day and go with the gods." 

Melas chuckled at Owen's little joke.

By the time, he got to work, he was in for it. Several folks hadn't come in for the shifts. He was checking up when the power cut off. All around them, he could hear massive blast doors slamming shut to contain depressurization just like they were designed to do in case of loss of power.

A few minutes, hours, timeless period of shouting. Getting auxiliary power up and running.

Hearing the flow of reports flow over him, he felt a spike of terror when he realized just where the attack was raining down, but had no time or ability to do anything.


	43. John's POV

"So, that was your Captain Holmes," said Beverly in the sort of tone that invited confidences.

John wasn't altogether feeling confident. He was worried about Sherlock. Worried for him.

Sherlock thought of improvements to engines and hard light simulators and saw the truth behind a gesture. He didn't invent ways to new ways kill.

"Yeah, that was Sherlock," said John as the pause drew on by way of filling it.

"A very intense man," said Counselor Troi, who was a bit different from her mirror universe refugee counterpart. "I sense that he misses you very much."

Which was about… the most… he looked at her.

"As you are missing him."

John crossed his arms. At least Hudson had the sense to pretend she couldn't tell what they were all thinking and feeling.

He sipped his tea to stall for time.

He was still stalling when Beverley's XO buzzed from the bridge. "Ma'am, a Starfleet communique has come in. I'll transfer it down to you."

Beverley paled as she looked at her desk monitor.

"What is it?" John really didn't want to know. He told himself that if something had happened to the Bakerstreet, he'd have gotten the news.

Beverley said, "The Breen have come into the war on the Dominion's side. They attacked Starfleet Command on Earth."

He and Troi clustered around her. Beverly scrolled past image after image of destruction. San Francisco on fire. The Golden Gate Bridge cut in half. Starfleet headquarters in smoking ruins. The only area of the city unaffected was the aquarium by the bay. Sitting pristine and untouched.

It was the most damaging attack in Federation History. Not even the Klingons or the Romulans had managed a raid of this size in the middle of Federation territory.

The news only worsened as they read on.

Coordinated attacks on planets from Breen mining facilities throughout the quadrant. It was the most massive coordinated attack in Federation history. In any history any of them had studied.

Beverly's drew in her breath sharply as they reached the next part of the message. Betazed had fallen to Dominion and Breen forces. "Oh, Deana."

"I need to contact my mother," said Counselor Troi. She hurried out of the room.

John looked at the star map. He said, "Betazed's in the heart of the Federation. From there they'll have supply lines to Andor, Tellar, New Vulcan, Alpha Centauri. If a single strike force Breen could flatten Starfleet command…" He stood up. "We need to get back to our ships."

He commed for transport back to the Hippocrates, all the while thinking furiously.

He should say something. He should say, "The Breen are Augments. My descendants. Except for the really, really dangerous Augments, who have apparently been biding their time to complete old plans."

But he had no idea what good the information would do.

He'd done a lot of thinking since his little visit to the Breen stone age. A lot of thinking about a lot of things. Mostly he'd thought about all those old arguments at the Augment Soc back at the academy. His visit back to WWIII as well. There were plenty of examples from throughout human history of people turning on those they "thought" were sympathetic to an enemy. Anti-Vulcan sentiment after the second Romulan War. Japanese Internment during WWII.

The Breen hiding their origins was a favor that worked both ways.

What if saying something meant another wave of anti-Augment hysteria went through the population of Earth. John couldn't be responsible for that.

More than anything, John wanted to be with Sherlock just then. The Bakerstreet wasn't far. A transport away.

He said nothing.

Feeling sick to his stomach. Nothing. Like a pregnancy of anti-matter. He beamed over to the Bakerstreet.

So he could look Sherlock in the eyes and say, "I love you." Just that. Hold onto that.

That, and be pulled aside by Hudson, who said, "It is lovely to see the both of you. I have a recording that Billy sent me before being somewhat abruptly cut off that I'd like to discuss with you."

They listened to the recording and knew that the secret was out… actually Hudson had probably known from the moment John knew. Certainly she'd known about Chin for quite some time. Still, too late to warn San Francisco. To save Earth from a devastating attack at its heart.

"Dear, the Federation has known for months that the Breen were aiding the Dominion. Don't put this burden of guilt all on yourself. Also," she sighed, "From what I understand, Earth's defenses were turned off." Her dark eyes looked at both of them. "Augment personnel disappearing shortly after."

John blew out a breathe. "I keep going round and round. If we say the Breen are Augments, there will be reprisals against innocent people. Thinking we'd made off with Brittanus had Starfleet recalling every Augment in the fleet. There are rumors of all sorts of bad shite happening when some of these new recruits get into battle for the first time. Old recruits. If only we had a way of saying, those Augments are… I don't know Mirror Augments out to get us."

"John! Yes!" shouted Sherlock.

"What? Really?" asked John.

"No, of course not, but there is a fundamental difference between Terran Augments and Breen Augments." Sherlock looked at them both and then heaved an enormous sigh that had John smiling fondly. "There was a mutation, unique to Terran Augments, which was making reproduction between other strains difficult, if not impossible."

"Well, I don't have it," said John. He glared at Sherlock. "Obviously."

Hudson patted John's arm. She said, "Sherlock, do you think you can isolate the difference. Do you have access to examples of Breen genetics?"

Sherlock blushed. "I had Mycroft obtain a hundred thousand or so samples for me when John began his study in exchange for helping Mycroft with own of his tedious assignations on DS9. I quickly realized the information was useless for John's purposes, but, yes." Suddenly, he growled. "That fat cat. That sloberous cretin."

"What?" said John alarmed.

Sherlock glared at John. "Think, John. Think. Mycroft knew this was a possibility. He knew and he gave me the key to differentiating between Terran Augments and Breen all along." His frown deepened. "And he did it in a way that made me think about him and sex in the same moment. Ugh." Sherlock stalked off, paused, returned to kiss John. Brief. Passionate. He still left.

John had to get back to his ship.

John asked Hudon, "Do you think you can get what Sherlock finds into the test for Changelings. Anyone who comes on base gets it anyway."

Hudson's smile was its own answer.


	44. Elim Garak's POV

Elim accompanied the diplomats to the unallied system on the border of the Federation-Romulan neutral zone. Or as it was generally known the Neutral Zone. He'd always found that name particularly amusing. 

The vessel was unmarked. Nothing remarkable.

Still, the elderly Ambassador Spock made for a somewhat different sort of ambassador. Certainly the oldest he'd seen. 

"What do you find so fascinating?" asked Ambassador Spock. "I can only presume you've never seen a Vulcan before given the way you are observing me."

Elim was ready to explain that he was from a small farm in the Cardassian - Federation disputed zone – although Gorn might be entertaining – and had always regarded Vulcans as a mythical logic species when the Ambassador's grand-daughter, Nyota, poked the old man in the ribs.

She said something rapidly in Vulcan, which he did her the courtesy of pretending was entirely outside of his understanding. She said more loudly, "Gramps. Maybe it's because you're older that dirt and he can't believe they dug you up for this mission. Maybe he thinks you'll be consuming our life force to stay among the living next."

Elim laughed. Not that there was much to laugh about given how events were unfolding. The Breen coming in on the Dominion side of the war. Massive losses across the Federation. The Cardassian high council finally realizing that this a bad idea when the Dominion gave half the territory gained to the Breen. Which left Cardassian rebels fighting their Dominion overlords, and yet unaligned with the Federation forces. A three way war.

All the more reason smile in the face of fortune and laugh with Nyota. "I like you."

"I like you too," she said with a smile. She took a picture of the Ambassador with her tablet, saying, "Mom has to see that expression. It's one for the collection. That's right. You know the one." The Ambassador's eyebrow climbed higher. "Beautiful."

It was with some regret that this halcyon period ended when they reached Dessica II. An unaffiliated planet on the Federation side of the Neutral Zone.

Elim beamed down with Spock and Nyota to the main settlement on the planet, Nafir. Little more than metal shacks piled together along dirt streets. The pungent odor of an inefficient waste processing facility. The very picture of a frontier world. 

Primarily settled by Romulans.

Spock fit right in.

Elim as well, because really there was nowhere he didn't fit in. Just perfectly. He smoothed the wrinkles of that lie in his head until it was just right.

They made their way to a bar with a picture of a Green Falcon hanging over the door. A simply delightful establishment with sticky floors, battered furniture, and large painting of a naked and pneumatically unlikely Orion slave girl behind the bar.

It was quite clearly the sort of place that sold Romulan ale made in a bathing tub and that was it. Elim ordered one after asking his liver for forgiveness.

Spock made contact with a Romulan Praetor doing an extremely poor impression of a seedy smuggler. He was simply far too hygienic and arrogant. He held his body as if he expected to be giving orders, not hiding from authorities. 

Elim watched from a table from the far side of the room. Had a simply delightful conversation with a Romulan trader of certain illegal goods. It was important to make new alliances where he could.

Ambassador Spock merely arched an eyebrow at him when they returned to their ship.

The next day was more of the same.

A woman approached his table and attempted to solicit him for a round of vaguely defined pleasures.

He said, "Regretfully, my dear, I am not interested. Not that your person isn't quite personable, but I do have other connections to keep."

"And miles to go before a peaceful sleep," said a smooth voice that in no way delighted his heart to hear.

"Mycroft! And what pray tell, brings you to the dive of disrepute?" He lifted a foot just to feel the stickiness on the underside. Mind racing on how to deal with this situation. The Breen were, after all, now the enemy.

"I have taken an abrupt leave of absence following a failure to adequately speculate on what depth chaos will sink to," said Mycroft taking a seat next to him. "And you?"

"Well, if you must know," Elim spun a simply lovely tale of a quest for Silenian Spider silk that really was a masterpiece. Trying to tease out what Myroft could have meant. His affiliation with the Breen was of long standing. Finishing with, "but I fear it will come to nothing."

Across the room, the Praetor was waving his hands at Spock, smiling broadly. Too broadly.

"You're right," said Mycroft. "It is very unlikely that a single half Vulcan, not matter his reputation, and his grandchild will convince the Star Empire to come in on the Federation side of the war."

Elim could not help but note that Mycroft appeared somewhat knowledgeable about Ambassador Spock, who'd been out of the public eye for several decades. Elim hadn't been aware of any reputation until he'd met the man. Elim said, "I believe the Vulcan gentleman is here on a spa vacation for his health. As I understand it, he is older than dirt."

"Not so old as that," said Mycroft with a wistful look, which really was nothing like him. Elim disliked the expression. It made him feel soft and melted in his pulmonary vessel. Not at all an acceptable feeling for an individual of his experience. Particularly not in these circumstances. "Spock defeated Khan Brittanus once in hand to hand combat."

Elim said nothing so gauche as, "Who?" Particularly since Mycroft might be indulging Elim in a flight of fancy. He vaguely recalled that was the frozen Augment that the Federation had been so careless as to misplace several years ago. "Isn't that gentleman dead? In which case, an easy combat for the Ambassador to make."

"They were all younger then than they are now," replied Mycroft without looking away from the Ambassador. His expression almost hungry.

As Elim watched fascinated, Mycroft gestured to the wait staff to bring another round of execrable drinks. "The Star Empire thinks they have but to sit back and watch their rivals bloody themselves and come in to collect what's left when the war is done. Still, when circumstances are dire Spock has been known to continue in the face of adversity," Mycroft angled his chair. "I never could understand what Mummy saw in him. But then," he flickered a look at Elim, "they always did admire strength. Someone standing up to them. Although, it has taken me this long to realize it."

Really it couldn't have been a more intriguing present of implications than if he'd provided Elim with a freighter full of actual Silenian Spider silk. Either an utterly ridiculous implied truth or a fabrication of such soap bubble glory as to warm Elim's ridiculous heart.

He was about to suggest that perhaps they spend an hour or so in one of the rented rooms upstairs, after the Ambassador was safely back on the ship of course, when Mycroft said, "I wanted to suggest that the Federation may not be the best place for you."

Elim sadly put aside the ideas of an assignation. He should have known better. He did Mycroft the courtesy of an answer. "I may be a battered representative for Cardassians' best interests, but I am what she has."

Mycroft looked in displeasure at their drinks as they arrived. He squeezed Elim's hand before getting up. "You misunderstand me. Perhaps, because it was not my original intent in coming here. I don't mean come away with me to the Breen Confederacy. I mean that there may be much that might be done by individuals such as ourselves here or among the stars imperial." At Elim's look, he said, "There are some people I need to protect from their own bad choices. Whether they appreciate it or not. I am quite literally," he gestured to his own person, "standing up to them."

"Ah. That one I'm familiar with," said Elim before introducing Mycroft to Ambassador Spock.


	45. Craig Tregennis (Kray-Kray) Protector of Aquariums

Mummy gathered him up. Pressing kisses and hugs and kisses on him. "Baby. Baby. You're okay. You're fine."

This was nice, but Craig wanted to be put down. He wanted the soft dolphin Auntie Alexis had gotten him at the aquarium. Before the light came down. Before it tried to hurt the seals and the fish.

No one was going to hurt seals while Craig was there to stop it. Craig and Hyperion. He couldn't have made the big yellow push away without Hyperion helping. But they had.

"Want seal," said Craig, squirming in his mother's arms.

"You can have a seal. Dolphins. Whales. Otters. Whatever you want, sweetheart." More kisses, but this was not a plush seal. So Craig let out a bellow.

Hyperion said, "Kray! Stop," and floated the toy seal to him.

Seal restored to his arms, Craig settled into his mother's arms.

Auntie Alexis said, "Owen, what will we do when the authorities realize why the Aquarium was spared."

An another kiss on his temple. "No reason, they should be fashed over people's lives being saved."

"Owen," Auntie Alexis rubbed their face. They looked like they were about to cry. Craig wondered if they wanted Mommy Juice or maybe some sparkles. The sparkles always made them get very excited. "Our toddlers just held back an attack."

"Again what of it?" 

Hyperion said, "Auntie Owen!" very sharply and touched his arm.

"Ah, fuck that's bad!" Mama said, "I see you're point. We're leaving for anywhere not here."

"What, happened. What did Hyperion do?"

"Well," said Mama, "You know how you've been telling me that Apollo was a god of prophecy, among other things, well, Hyperion just showed me what will happen if we don't leave. Now! Can't even stop to get our things. We have to go now! No is turning our babies into weapons."

Craig said, "Want seal!"

"You can have your seal," assured his mother.

Craig didn't care where they lived as long as he could have his seal. He slept a good deal of the way to Andor. Pushing the big light had tired him out.


	46. Thil's POV

Thil was born for this.

Absolutely born for this.

Sestre looked at the sack of equipment, which Thil had made from odds and ends from around the house - good thing he didn't have to rely on replicators - and said, "Are you certain we need all this."

"Absolutely," said Thil with absolute and utter conviction.

Eva said, sounding very much like her mother, "If we take it and don't use it, that's much better than going and finding out we needed it."

"That is logical," said Sestre, who always had to be so logical. When what he should be saying, is, "How amazing Thil, you made a grappling hook from things you had around the house." Also, that store that had closed on the twenty-second level a cycle ago.

Thil didn't mind. He didn't mind all the way through Eva sending a message to her mother about where they were going, which was not right.

He protested after she did it. "She'll try to stop us." 

Eva said reasonably, "Thil, we're twelve. Sestre's seventeen. I don't know what we're going to do when we get there. We need an adult. My mom can access a shuttle and once we're already there, she'll have to help us."

"Okay," said Thil. "I guess." He still felt pretty disgruntled.

Shor said, "I still don't know about this plan. There's a war on. Won't someone notice our ship."

"Eventually, when we land on the planet, sure," said Thil, because he really had spent a lot of time thinking about this scenario. "But its the kind of ship used in smuggling," no one asked him about all the research he'd done on smugglers, or even how he'd known what ship to liberate from the impound lot, "not… any kind of warship. Space is really big." He shrugged. "They don't have a reason to care about us."

Which since they'd already borrowed the ship from the yard and were on their way, he was glad no one disagreed with, because if he was going to get in trouble, it had better be on an adventure.

When they reached Beta Aurigae, Thil had an elaborate plan to get them through port security.

But Eva answered the port authorities hail saying, "Hi, my name is Eva Hebron. I'm an Augment from Terra, South African and North America. I'm ending my gene patterns now. I'm a friend of Connor's. Grendel's grandson. He said that this is a planet full of only Augments and, and, back home everyone is mean to me because I'm an Augment and, and…all my life I've been looking for the Augment paradise discussed by the twenty-third century poet Jeana Sinzin in his poem 'Scented Dreams' in which," at which point Thil stopped paying attention.

Ms. Hebron talked a lot about the history of Augment civil rights, and Eva could be like her mother if anyone got her started.

The Human from the port authority got Connor's grandfather to meet them in holding, which took longer than it should have. Longer than Thil's plan would have taken, but no one agreed with him. 

Grendel arrived and he looked like the evil grandmaster in a drama. Silver hair and bright blue eyes. He should be wearing a velvet cape and have a sword. Grendel said to Eva, "If you want asylum from the Federation, why did you bring Andorians and a Vulcan with you?" The way he said Andorians and Vulcan was pure villain. 

"We couldn't let her go alone," said Thil, who felt he needed to seize control of the plot. "She's only twelve." After some thinking he added, "I'm the only one one who knew how to steal a ship."

"I knew how," said Shor. "I just didn't want to. Which is different."

"I'm the only one who knows how to fly the shuttle," tried Thil. 

"I know how to fly a shuttle," said Sestre as if Thil had suggested he didn't know basic addition.

Connor put his hand on his grandfather's arm, and Thil thought it wasn't fair that Connor had grown four inches in the years since they'd seen him. "Grandfather, I know them. These are my friends. I've told you all about them."

"They are Federation citizens," said Grendel, tightly. "They are a danger to us."

"Thil is a danger? Shor? Sestre. Look at them." 

At which point, Eva's mom was brought into their holding cell by port security. "My Lord, here's another one. Claims to know the first lot."

Grendel waved him off. "I'll deal with this." Glared at Ms. Hebron. "A Federation citizen, and in Starfleet," said Grendel.

"It's just Ms. Hebron, Eva's mom," said Connor, who was looking a bit worried.

"I'm a Starfleet officer with information you need to hear," said Ms. Hebron in a firm mom tone.

"You're a traitor to your own kind," said Grendel.

"No, I kind of think you're wearing that banner right now," said Ms. Hebron. She held out a data crystal. "I analyzed the virus that attacked the Augments here. Which I might add would kill me and my daughter, so I'm not all that thrilled by its existence, or that my daughter ran away to come here," she gave Eva a look that didn't bode well for their adventure. "The virus attacks the genes that trigger heat and causes them to trigger the release of… you know that's not the main point The lipids in the membrane of the virus are exactly the same as the virus used by the Dominion to kill the Auberj, a Gamma Quadrant race. The same viral membrane was found in the viral epidemic attack on Starfleet shipyards. Very different diseases, but in the same package. It's like a signature. If the Federation had built this, it would have a different packaging."

"As if I can believe anything that you have to say," said Grendel. "You could be lying."

"Oh, come on!" said Thil. "Everyone knows the Dominion targeted flu at Federation shipyards."

"Mom's base only avoided it because she's paranoid," finished Shor. 

"Not paranoid if they are actually out to get you." Thil and Shor bumped shoulders. 

Grendel stared at them, which must mean he didn't have a lot of experience with twins. He said between set teeth. "We have not only visual confirmation of a known Federation agent delivering the pathogen, but genetic evidence left behind in the facility where he made the changes matched the individual."

"Which could have been collected by the Dominion. They have him in custody. You gave him to them," said Connor.

"And Changelings are shapeshifters," said Thil, because they were. "Mom has to get blood tested every time she comes on base."

Which for whatever reason had Grendel baring his teeth, "I know. Several of our agents have been arrested as possible Changelings." He tilted his head. Expression getting villainously calculating. 

Connor sighed and said, "Grandfather," he reached up and jabbed Grendel with a hypodermic. Catching Grendel before he fell. "A little help, he's very tall," said Connor. 

Ms. Hebron helped Connor put Grendel in a chair. 

"That did not go well," said Ms. Hebron.

"No," agreed Connor. He and Ms. Hebron talked about the type of sedative Connor had given his grandfather. 

Thil volunteered to tie him up. 

"Your Aunt Harry sent you very interesting vids," said Ms. Hebron, which had Eva giggling.

Ms. Hebron looked at Eva. Seemed about to say something and seemed to change her mind a few times. Thil was familiar with the look. "This is possibly my own fault for raising you where I did. But," she raised a finger, "you are very grounded." 

"Yes, Mom," said Eva, who couldn't repress her smile.

Ms. Hebron looked at Thil. "And you can expect to be grounded for the next twenty years too."

Someone giggled, which had Thil whirling around, but there was no one there. In any case, Connor initiated an auto transport back to his grandfather's house, which was icy in it's villain's lair potential. 

They had a proper planning session there. 

"We need more evidence," said Connor. "Although, I have no idea how much is enough. Grandfather's so fixated on the idea that Beta Humans want revenge and are out to get Augments." 

"Given his history, I know why," said Ms. Hebron.

"Ooooh," said Thil. "A tragic history that drove him to villainy."

"My grandfather is not a villain," said Connor. "He's just misguided." 

"We should look at the site that your Grandfather mentioned," said Ms. Hebron. She looked at all of them. Slumped a little. "I don't have Hazmat gear. Do you think we can replicate some?"

The answer it turned out was no. 

"I can go," said Connor. "I'm immune."

"It's not even built to hurt Sestre or me," said Thil. Brightly. 

Ms. Hebron rubbed her eyes. "Sestre, do you think you could handle this on your own?"

Sestre spent far too long thinking, when Thil wanted to shout, "No, he can't."

Eventually, Sestre said, "There needs to be at least one Augmented Human with me." Which if Connor got to go, Thil was going.

Ultimately, Ms. Hebron stayed behind with Eva and Shor to monitor Grendel and direct their operations remotely. 

Thil got to wear a cloak while they beamed into the management facility for District 9 in the Red Zone, which was where the disease had been programmed into any liquid coming from the replicators. 

None of the vids Aunt Harry had sent had really gotten across how excellent a cloak was for hiding his gear. Also, for making it hard to walk. 

Connor used his grandfather's ID to get authorization into the facility. Even though the area was off limits with all sorts of yellow quarantine tags all over it.

Connor scanned for signs that a Changeling had been there. Ms. Hebron said over their secured com, "Look carefully at ventilation shafts. It'll have been shedding and the bits tend to accumulate." 

Sestre accessed the computers to download how the Changeling had modified the replicators. Shor's suggestion, because computer code had fingerprints too.

Admittedly, Thil was supposed to be watching for anyone coming. But, there wasn't anyone and it was boring waiting while Sestre searched the records and Connor scanned.

Since no one told him not to, Thil used the ID to take a look around. They could always com him if they needed him. The building was kind of enormous. And not exactly empty. But when people passed him, he was prepared. He had his cloak pulled forward and muttered at a tablet about backups in the plumbing on his day off. He'd even spritzed himself with a little Sewer Scent, which every Augment he'd ever tried it with told him all they could smell was sewer and that he should shower.

He looked in a few closed rooms. Nothing very interesting.

Until he came to a room with a red light next to it. He knew absolutely and with his entire soul, that there was something good behind a locked door with a red light.

The lock wasn't one he could break. Fortunately, there'd been this one vid that pointed out that the door was often the strongest part of any secure area. So, he shouldn't try to go through the door. But there was lots of wall and he had brought a laser torch.

He cut a very small entryway, and put his tricorder through it. There was one Human Augment. He looked inside.

Aunt Harry crouched by the hole on the other side. She said, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya."

"You killed my father, prepare to die," he told her happily. It was the code phrase they'd agreed on if he ever felt he was ready to begin revenging himself on her, or she was kidnapped by an even archer nemisis.

"How did you get here?" he asked.

"I could ask the same thing," said Aunt Harry.

He brought her up to speed while he cut a larger opening, so she could get out. He resealed it afterwards, because a hole in the wall would be kind of obvious. They went back to the quarantined area.

"Look who I found," said Thil.

It didn't even occur to him until Ms. Hebron got so upset over the coms that Aunt Harry could be in danger from the virus. "No one told me," protested Thil.

"It was clearly stated that the virus target's Terran Augments," said Sestre.

"Well, I'm not hacking my lungs out, so can we have this fucking convo somewhere anywhere not here," said Aunt Harry. "Decontam me. Radiate me. Whatever, but let's go."

They beamed back to Connor's to get decontaminated in the underground garage - proper villain - and decide what to do next.


	47. John's POV

John's crew stacked bodies in the morgue hold.

Too many.

So there he sat in his tin can, listening to reports over the com about heavy fire for control of Drozaria, what they now knew to be a Breen base in Federation space.

Two thousand Federation Marines and Klingon soldiers had been poured into tunnels from high speed transports that didn't so much subvert the Breen energy weapons as dart around them.

A costly gamble to seize control of this key point in the Dominion supply lines.  The life sign monitors showed a quarter of them still alive. Too much rock to get more signal than that. Certainly nothing that would allow a transporter.

The captains of the transport ships were ordering a retreat.

John should do the same.

Then he had a supremely bad idea.

The queen of all bad ideas.

Strike that.

The Khan of all bad ideas.

But, John decided, fuck it. "Stamford, you have command."

"I have command? Where are you going?"

"Into the mines to have a chat with the kids."

He picked up a med kit and a medical tricorder from one of the wall units along the way. In the transporter room, he put on his best smile for the crewman third class behind the controls. "Be ready to beam out a fuckton of troops." Stood on the transporter pad and raised his tricorder.

The marines had gone in with type three phaser rifles. The Klingons had had disruptor rifles. Much good that had done them.

The first cavern was empty. The next one only held dead bodies. A quick scan with the tricorder told him that.

Dead bodies. Faces emptied of life. Kids. Old soldiers. The scent of fecal material released in death in caverns of hollowed out stone. He followed the trail of the fallen and the lifesign transponders on the tricorder. Came into a vast chamber where a dozen Breen were holding disruptors on the last of the living. 

He had to wonder if this dozen Breen were all there were at this facility. If so few had done all this.

A Breen in black armor warbled at him, turning a disruptor on him. John put the tricorder on his belt. He said, "Hey kids. I know you know who I am. I'm here to give you a couple of theological puzzles."

Another warble from the Breen in black.

"Yeah, you heard me. I said theological. Because here's the thing." He walked in between the Breen and the marines. Lowered his voice. "Maybe your alignment thinks I've done all I needed to do to bring about the Breen. Maybe I have."

He came closer. Until he could see his eyes reflected in their helmets.

"What if I haven't? You can tell yourself that Sarpeidon," he spat on the ground in honor all that time had cost him, "caused a rift in space time, and there were two or three me's. One who did the dirty business of bringing your race into this universe, and another two or three, who sent the messages your people needed to hear."

The Breen began to warble furiously at each other.

John squared his shoulders. Kept talking. That's all he could do.

"But we're talking time travel. What if the Dualists and the Trinitarians are wrong?" John made himself grin. "What if there's only one me and I'm him, and I've only done part of the job? What if I need to sling around a star to travel to the future to tell my descendants – because that’s what you all are – that they need to tell your ancestors to start the Conchordia. Or maybe I need to go into the past to so you'll know to find the Khans floating around like space seeds so my husband, Sherlock, can exist. So that a blue planet, half the quadrant away, had anything to do with you." He reached out with his free hand and pushed the disruptor pointed at his chest out of the way. "You have a choice. Disintegrate me, or you can let me take the wounded back to my ship."

The Breen whistled. Tapped something on the side of its helmet. A computerized voice said, "And the second puzzle?"

"Okay, I lied. This one is more tactical." He turned his back on the Breen. He mouthed, "Get ready to go," at the wide eyed faces of the marines and Klingons in front of him. 

John said loudly, "Ask yourself. Is it better tactics for you to care for my wounded or for me to take them off your hands and then the Federation will have to care for them?"

Another computerized voice from a Breen on his left said, "We could disintegrate them."

One of the Klingons shouted something that sounded like, "Because you are soulless and have not the honor to eat brave hearts." Which really was not helpful. Very Klingon, but not helpful.

John raised his voice higher. "In the wars we fight, we create the peace that follows. I've seen your home world. I've been to one of your little meet and greets. Hell, I've been to an alternate dimension where you lot took over and you really fucked things up." He turned back around. "I think I know what your ancestors did to your biology. How desperate you are. I know how that feels." He let that truth hang there in his face and eyes. Ripped the bandaid and was vulnerable for a moment, just a moment. To an audience with no tells. No features to guide him. "But you haven't gotten off to the best start by kidnapping our citizens. Bombing Earth and other Federation worlds." 

"You don't know what the Federation did," said another Breen. The same flat computerized voice. "They attacked the future."

"I don't know what you think we did to get you so angry that you attacked civilian targets." He knelt by a boy shivering on the ground. Gave him an adrenaline injection to stabilize him. "But when you say Federation, you mean me too and I can tell you," he looked up and gave them his best charming smile, "I don't attack civilians. I don't believe in scorching the ground I'm standing on until there's no coming back. Until all that's left of a verdant world is ice and snow." He stopped another kid's bleeding with a pressure bandage.

"We learned the nature of the Betas when we learned what had happened to those we sent to ensure survival. Our ships were slower then. A long year journey in cryo with the knowledge there could be no return. Only to end in torture. Death for all but one."

"I think you may have missed the point of every single version of a Lady of the Flowers story," said John. "But I can tell you if you kill everyone here, then every sentient being in the Alpha Quadrant will know your nature. Will know what peace you want to make." He gave a glassy eyed soldier a local anesthetic. "What peace do you want after the war? What kind of peace do you want with the nearly four hundred and fifty million Augments living in Federation space? Because trust me, however you think about them, now is when they're deciding what they think about you."

The Breen warbled at each other for what felt like forever.

John focused on treating the soldiers in front of him. Stopping this kid's bleeding. Cauterizing that old soldier's wounds.

Eventually one of the Breen said, "The 13 th Alignment gives you your wounded and those needed to carry them."

"So, everyone. Great. Thanks, kids." John stood up. "Oh, and by the way, if your ships keep firing on my ship, a hospital ship by the by, and you hit it just right," he mimed an explosion with his hands. "There goes any future we might have together."

A Breen said, "Eventually, the correct theological truth will reveal itself."

"Eventually, you'll take off your helmets and open your eyes," said John, who was almost beyond caring. He did not look behind him. "Let's go."

He led the wounded back up through the tunnels. Leaving so many dead behind. Not looking back, because there was no telling if the Breen would change their minds.

A marine came up to him. Towered over him. A Caitan. His fur was streaked with ash and blood. Carrying a wounded marine in his arms."That was the craziest thing I've ever seen and I volunteered for this mission."

"Yeah, well, insane stupid is my specialty." John tapped his com.  "Hippocrates, this is Captain Watson. Beam all Federation personnel directly to the Medical holds for triage."

The Caitan's whispered, "You're John Watson! My brother, M'Kalla, told me of..." was cut off by the whine of the transporter.

Then John was in Medical Hold One. He commed the Bridge, "All medical staff to the holds. Stamford get us out of here the moment everyone is beamed out."

What followed were endless hours of working to save who he could. Followed by a dead sleep. Followed by endless questions about what he'd told the Breen.

Days later, he wearily told Admiral Lestrade, "I took a risk. I've seen their home world. They destroyed it in a nuclear war. It's in a report somewhere." A highly abbreviated report. "Whatever they're hoping to get out of the Dominion, they're very aware of the costs of war."

Really not much more he could say.

John was a little happier with the next person he saw. His favorite person in the universe. Too thin. Too wild eyed. Sherlock tried to inhale all the air in John's lungs with a kiss. Which was fair. John tried to do the same thing.

Too short a meeting.

Sherlock was babbling something about modifications that would boost the Hippocrates' shields. John watched him modify the Hippocrates systems. Terrified his engineers with comments on their techniques. At least his pilot was immune to terror.

He wasn't about to lose a moment with Sherlock.

Loss.

Their ships were both being deployed to reinforce the Allied position in the Chin'Toka sector under the Command of General Martok of the Klingon empire. He'd requested both their ships by name.

It seemed word about them had gotten around.

Klingons kept trying to give John blood wine during the briefing. If the brawl in General Martok's ship could be called a briefing. There were Klingons shouting. Federation captains clinging together in a pocket of the room.

John was too busy exploring Sherlock's mouth to care. Revisiting the familiar with sweeps of his tongue.

"Careful," said General Martok. "Do not expend all your passion before the battle."

John removed his mouth for a moment to say, "My love breeds desire where he most satisfies." Went back to what he was doing.

John stole some time for more than a kissing. Went to their quarters on the Bakerstreet. They didn't talk about the Breen or the war or holding territory from the Dominion. They only used short words like love. You. Missed you. Need you. Want you. Now. Please.

John didn't say goodbye when he had to go back to the Hippocrates.

John wasn't about to say goodbye.


	48. Sherlock's POV

The second battle of Chin'toka did not go like the first.

Oh, they arrived.

They thought it was going well.

Klingons boasting to each over the coms when a wing of birds of prey destroyed a Breen ship. "They are not so mighty an ally, and see how few ships they bring. They have grown weak in the centuries since they faced the Klingons."

The Breen ships shifted their positions. Spreading out.

Sherlock opened a channel. "They're about to…"

The Breen ships opened fire. A pale glow that washed over the Allied ships. Each ship lost power as the beam passed over them. Drifting without engines or shields. The Dominion ships surged forward in a coordinated attack. Destroying Starfleet and Klingon ships.

Out of three hundred and twenty-six ships, only two ships seemed impervious to the energy blast. A Klingon warbird, the IKS Ki'Tang, and the Bakerstreet. Whether or not the Hippocrates was immune as well was open to question.

The Breen never opened fire on it. In fact, they disabled one Dominion ship that started a strafing run towards John's ship.

The idiot captain of the Ki'Tang, true to his planet of origin, kept on the attack. Sherlock growled and opened a channel. "You idiot, break off your attack. We need to retreat."

Captain Kovar said, "I am not such a coward to run while other Klingons go to the banquet halls of the honored dead."

"Our ships are the only one not affected. We need to know why. Or are you all ridge and no cranium?"

This earned Sherlock a snarl, but the Ki'Tang broke off their attack.

More Allied ships broke apart. Escape pods escaping from ship after ship. 

At least the Dominion weren't firing on the escape pods. Possibly because the Hippocrates kept moving its massive bulk in the way. Her pilot as reckless about metal fatigue as ever.

Sherlock said, "Hudson, collect who we can. Coordinate with the Hippocrates and the Ki'Tang."

He went to his ready room and hailed the lead Breen ship. His second father smiled at him from the monitor. "Yes, my son."

"Do you think I don't recognize the energy signature from my own shield calculations?"

"I have no reason to think that my son is an idiot."

"You inverted my shield technology."

"I saw it had interesting implications. If you chose to focus on defense instead that is your own problem. You may think you've closed the security loop to our people, but we will alway be one step ahead." She smiled at him. "You should know that your mother's patience, never their greatest feature, is wearing thin. You should stop this foolish behavior and come home."

Sherlock cut off the communication.

He wanted to beam over to the Hippocrates. To breath John's scent.

Instead, he focused on studying the sensor readings of the Breen energy disruptor.


	49. Chin's POV

Chin made the decision listening to Moriarty prattle on about the battle of Chin'toka. His gleefulness in the destruction of the day. The ease with which he ordered his Vorta administrator to make reprisals on the segments of the Cardassian population that rioted when they learned what territory the Breen were being given after all their losses in the war.

She made the decision seeing the Auberj children hide from him when he came to congratulate her parents on the devastation they'd caused. The Dominion had destroyed the Auberj homeworld after all. She remembered that day. Had squeezed every erg of energy from the engines while the Bakerstreet made her escape.

It was simple to break Billy out of lock down.

All she had to do was betray her parents.

But given that Mycroft had disappeared on a mission of his own, she suspected he'd come to her same conclusion. 

This war wasn't in anyone's best interests.

Billy looked at her and knew. He didn't argue with her. He went with her out the door. Got on her ship. Told her, "It wasn't the Federation, not a civilian target like that. But I don't think your parents will believe us no matter what we have to say." 

Chin kissed Billy's hands. "Love, there are twenty-three Alignments. I don't propose that we try to convince my parents of anything." 


	50. Mycroft's POV

"You don't have to return," said Garak. "I know from personal experience that betraying a parent's political goals puts a damper on the relationship."

"It's something I must do." Mycroft had done what he set out to do. Added another counter balance in the war that was consuming the Alpha Quadrant entire. By his calculation it should be just enough to balance the technological might of the Breen.

If his mother had not seen through Moriarty's manipulations, or worse was leveraging them, Mycroft needed to be there. Lend his voice for peace. Had to hope that his mother would listen to him.

"It is an extremely illogical thing to do," said Spock, "but I am familiar with the drive to do illogical things."

"Ugh, logic. Come home with us," urged Nyota. "Meet Mom. She'll flip when she finds out she has a sibling she never knew anything about. A science sibling." 

Mycroft felt forced to add, as he had several times since explaining his origins, and their significance for the current war, "Only twenty percent of my genetics was derived from Spock. Stolen genetics."

Garak brushed his knuckles across the back of Mycroft's hand. "Given the rest of your family, you might want to hold onto this side of the family."

"Yes, please. If we all survive this," said Nyota. "just you know, don't be a stranger."

With that agreement, Mycroft left them. 

Left the Romulan Star Empire with its delicate manipulations and and at its center the planet Romulus. Destroyed in an alternative universe. A different Spock hadn't been able to save that world. 

Neither the Spock from that universe or the one from this one had been able to save Vulcan. Mycroft had ties to a desert world that was lost. Had never met his older self as Spock had met his other.

He and Spock had spoken of that and other things while they'd engaged in what Spock called cowboy diplomacy. What Garak had referred to as delightful a frame as he'd ever participated in. 

Either way, Mycroft needed to return.

He lingered as he arrived in the exterior areas of the palace. The English style garden had added a folly village of refugees. The holographic system that Sherlock had put in place a decade or so before still running. The holographic elders of the village, with their simulated facial lesions. Indicators of the disease meant to slowly kill that race. The very real children learning from them. Growing up.

Mycroft entertained the brief image of the Ferengi moon as an egg. That must surely crack open eventually to allow this race to emerge into the greater universe.

He was entertaining this thought when his mother arrived. They said, "What have you done?"

"Not saved the last members of a race meant for genocide by our allies." He flickered a glance at his mother. Decided to give into a desire for dramatic flair. Lifted his left shoe and pointedly brushed at the dirt there. "But I'm assuming you were asking that rhetorically."

"Yes," they watched the Auberj for a long moment. "The Romulans will only extend the war. The Federation will release the virus that will kill our hopes on Earth."

"Or Moriarty will." His mother's flickered glance was all the confirmation he needed.

"You knew it was him."

"I suspected. There was a high probability of slow success through our indirect assistance. So, either the Federation sought to warn of us of the consequences of fully joining the war, or Moriarty sought to show us what would happen if we didn't. Either way, the only way is forward." 

They glared at the children happily playing under the watchful eye of their holographic parents. Holographic ghosts. 

Mummy said, "Time to initiate our final protocol. Bring Sherlock back where it's safe. We've obtained the sister. Moriarity may yet determine a cure from examining child we could create from the wealth they bring."

"Mother, Moriarty has no interest in curing helping us. Chin left. Sherlock is fighting for the Federation. I helped bring the Romulans into the war." Mycroft was not going to rub the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't that tell you something? Doesn't it tell you something that none of your children support what you're doing."

"It tells me that my children do not understand what we went through. What we're facing." They looked at each other awkwardly. Mother said, "I had thought that you would always stand by me. That I could trust you." There was that soft wounded look that had always tugged on Mycroft's heart in the past. "You were the first person I trusted." 

And there the dagger's thrust.

Mycroft did not, would not get drawn into a discussion about the first Mycroft. 

"Mother, I'm right here. Not that Mycroft." He cut that line of speech off. "I'm telling you that what you're doing is wrong. You don't have to come into the war on the Federation's side. But withdraw. Let Sherlock live his life." Mycroft could tell that Mummy wouldn't, but Mycroft had the advantage here. 

He was quite a bit more familiar with John Watson than Mother was. 


	51. John's POV

John's first thought when he was briefed that not only would the Romulans enter the war on the Federation side, but Starfleet engineering had updated enough of Starfleet's ships to handle the Breen's energy weapons was that the war couldn't last much longer.

It couldn't.

He hoped.

He hoped all the way to Betazed. They were taking the battle to the Dominion.

The battle for Betazed was fierce. Heavy fire on all sides. The Breen quickly abandoning their energy weapon, once they realized it was no longer effective, to send volleys of missiles. 

Once again, John wasn't watching the battle. Didn't see it fought and won. He was too busy trying to save the lives that came his way.

Over the com, Stamford said, "John, I wish you could see this. "We're winning."

John's mouth was stretching into a smile, when a hail came from the Bakerstreet.

It was Hudson. "I'm sorry John. We had to lower our shields to fire the imploder lance. As soon as we did, they took him?"

John didn't really need to ask who, but he did anyway.

"It was a Breen transporter. They beamed Sherlock off the bridge, just before retreating."

The Hippocrates was not John's ship to do with as he pleased. There were wounded on board. They needed to be taken to their families. To medical care.

The Bakerstreet wasn't John's ship either.

Just taking off in the middle of a major offensive was a court martial offense.

He contacted Garak. "I'm going to need access to ship that can manage at least Warp 5. Think you can swing that for me?"

"I may know of something. May I ask what for?"

"A family reunion."

"Ah, give Mycroft my love if you see him."

For a ship, John would offer up all sorts of messages. With the location of a rendez vous established, John was left to pack, resign his commision, and wonder just what he was going to do when he got to wherever Sherlock was.

At which point, the universes aligned, which was to say, a wavery, somewhat transparent hologram of another him, appeared and said, "Hello, can you see me? Sherlock, it's not working. I don't think he can see me."

"I can see you," he told his other self with the Van Dyke beard. The self naked except for a tissue thin gold negligee. Presumably. The hologram was from the waist up.

"Excellent," the other him waved a champagne flute at him. "Get some champagne. We should celebrate."

"Uh…why?"

The other him waved at himself. "The factory is...mmmm…. Closed for business, and…God, yes, keep doing that," John couldn't help but notice that there was something dark and curly moving at the bottom of the holographic display, "And I thought who else would understand. Who should I celebrate with but me."

"Uh, not a good time. Sherlock has just been kidnapped by his parents."

"Mmm…" other John put a hand just out of view, "I know the feeling. His parents must be desperate for you two to start popping kids out in the uterine replicators if nothing else. Which would make me say fuck them, but if you want your kids to start fucking a cure through the Breen while you're young enough to gloat about it, you'd better get started."

"What the actual fuck!"

Not-Sherlock's head popped up from the bottom of the hologram. A floating head and the tip of his other selves cock, which was not what he needed to see just then. "It was just a theory until our children proved it in application."

"Did I say you could stop," said other John, pushing not-Sherlock's head back out of view.

There was a whispered, "No, my John."  

Then other John explained some things to John, while not Sherlock did something just out of view. Which left John more than a bit uncomfortable and with at least some form of a plan. 

One he hoped Sherlock would be able to forgive him for, but he was tired of fighting on the Dominion's terms.


	52. Sherlock's POV

As he felt the transporter beam around him, Sherlock reflected that – of course – the Breen remaining on a battlefield when they no longer had a technological advantage made no sense otherwise. Unless the reason they were there had nothing to do with Betazed.

Unless they had a different objective entirely.

He rematerialized in front of Mummy and his fathers.

Mycroft smiled apologetically at Sherlock. "I tried to tell them to simply leave you in peace. "

"Not a word from you," said Mummy. "We must press on. For the good of our people."

"My people are back there," said Sherlock. "Fighting you. This is not for my good. Anyone's good. What you want leads to...." Sherlock stumbled trying to encapsulate John's description of the mirror universe, "nothing good."

"You'll understand later," said Mummy.

"Somehow," said Sherlock stepping back, formulating his next move. "I doubt that."

"Much later," said Mummy, which was when Sherlock felt the hypo. Sherlock swayed before collapsing into unconsciousness.


	53. Harry Watson's POV

Harry turned to Lucy as if removing a hair from her coat. Mainly, because after being stopped by yet another inhabitant of the Green Zone, and asked if they were new, knew what had happened in the Red Zone, and could get word to a family member there, it had become abso-fucking clear that the Green Zone was more of a small town than a large city. If the quaint little brick buildings with the flower pots hadn't been an indicator. If every single resident being an Augment hadn't done it.

Most floral smelling homogenous place Harry had ever seen. It was bizzare.

Fussing at Lucy's coat also had the benefit of hiding the tricorder that Lucy was swinging around like it wasn't a big flashing, "Hello, I don't belong here" sign.

Unfortunately, while Harry knew a good deal more about palming items and concealment, she didn't know how to operate the thing or what it would mean if she could read it. Lucy, on the other hand, couldn't act her way out of a paper bag. 

She kept forgetting they were acting like new residents taking a look around. She couldn't even remember their backstory.

They were following the Terrorist's trail - Saboteur, whatever one called someone who killed thousands of people with a deadly virus - that Sestre's hack of the security cameras had identified.

After thirty minutes, Harry had to ask, "Is it possible it really was this Killander arsehole?"

"No." Lucy's response certainly was definitive. 

"But we haven't found any residue indicating that a Changeling was here." It had to be said. Harry's feet, which had spent the last few years in a lifestyle that didn't involve a lot of long walks certainly were saying it.

"We will," said Lucy.

"But," started Harry.

"But no. Starfleet wouldn't do this," said Lucy. Flat certain. The sort of flat that if Harry were playing the role, was a piece of paper over a whole lot of roiling doubt. Othello beginning to doubt Desdemona, which admittedly made her the Iago here.

"Yeah," Harry paused, turned to face Lucy for yet another passerby, waited them out, "But Starfleet did do it. You said that you were part of a team that engineered a virus to infect the Changelings. That's why you think it's shedding."

"But that's different," said Lucy and that paper was getting a bit thinner.

"How?" They crossed over a bridge. Buildings got a bit dingier. Few more pubs. Less flowers. Much farther and they'd be in the Purple Zone. Harry wasn't sure how she could bluff her way into people believing she was a geriatric alpha with Grendel's ID, but figured she'd wig and platform boots her way past that problem when they got to that security zone.

"It just is." Lucy bent further over her tricorder. Probably hearing just how weak a statement that was.

"I thought John has some sort of friend, acquaintance whatever, who was a Changeling. Odo something. Mum's mentioned him a few times. Works security on DS9. Isn't the illness affecting him too. Or did you figure out how to keep him out of it."

"It's affecting him. Killing him. That's how I know the Changeling must be shedding" Lucy's answer was quiet. Tear in the paper. Which was about when Harry thought that maybe picking at the worn spot wasn't the best idea when on a reconnaissance mission.

Harry spun her off into a stinking ally behind a pub, and she never would have thought she'd miss such a place, before Lucy sort of crumpled. "I keep thinking what Eva will think. What kind of example I'm setting. What kind of person I am. I didn't actually do the research. I just authorized it. That it was Section 31. Not Starfleet. I hear myself telling myself that and wonder what kind of a person thinks that. Decides to commit a... war crime to prevent more war."

Harry didn't actually have a lot of leg to stand on what with being a murderer, but she knew a good bit about guilt, so she let Lucy run herself down. Into the eventual silence of their filthy little ally, she said, "Did you know my dad was the youngest military governor in Starfleet history. All sorts of commendations."

Lucy was giving her a wary eye, which under the circumstances was fair. 

"It's kind of easy to get the idea that being in the Federation automatically means that you naturally have some sort of moral line just drawn inside you. That all the nasty bits of human history ar over, but," she shrugged, "we don't. Don't want to cross lines, don't go to war. Don't," she shook her head at a good number of years of therapy. "Don't go down the rabbit hole."

"Fine," said Lucy. Her tone already hardening up, which was good and it was bad. They'd never figure things out if she was hard to the material. "So you're stuck on the idea that it can't have been Killander, because you don't want it to be. Because you don't want Starfleet, an organization you've spent your entire adult life in, to have an even greater guilt than is currently weighing you down."

"Yeah." Lucy looked up from her tricorder. Tears swimming in her frankly gorgeous baby browns, and really Harry didn't need to cross that line just then. Just because her only visitors had been tin cans for the last few months and a weekly visit to a holosuite for physical contact with a sort of something.

"So, let's adjust a bit. Do you think that Section 31 could have done that sort of research without you knowing? Being involved?"

"Yeah." Lucy sighed, before her brow wrinkled. "But it wouldn't make any sense for them to use the same virus shell."

"Frame?" suggested Harry, leaning back against a wall and immediately regretted it. Standing up straight again, even though her feet were killing her.

"But that would require someone to be sure that someone, a sixteen year old in this case, would send a scan of the virus to the one lab where there was someone who was both familiar with the shipyard faux-Venusian flu pandemic and the Auberj pandemic. As a frame, it doesn't hang together."

"Plots don't always," said Harry reasonably. She'd worked on some clunkers. "How about this. The virus was whipped up by the Dominion. They need the Breen full on in the war, and not dicking around just giving them supplies. Killander is Killander. He hates Augments. Blah. Blah. Blah. Fucker kidnaps my brother, gets fucked over for his poor choices.Gets handed over to the Dominion. Where for the sake of argument this Moriarty fucker, who shows up every now and again to fuck with you, gets ahold of him."

"You forgot to say shaky as a room full of Klingons on a sugar high when describing Moriarty, but sure," said Lucy, who also made the classic lean against the object behind her mistake and by her expression also learned the error of that choice.

"Simple. Manchurian Candidate. He was brainwashed into doing something he would already have done if gotten a push or an order, which means, I need a wig."

"What!" said Lucy.

"Because, plant or not, Killander didn't get here under his own power. But I'm guessing Grendel didn't worry about that all that much. Blah, blah, the enemy of my people has come to wreck destruction. Case solved. If we can tie Killander, who was last seen was in Dominion custody, to a Dominion handler, that's a thread we can follow."

"You're really good at this," said Lucy, wrapping her arms around herself and apparently trying not to breathe.

Harry had to come clean here. "While prison wasn't big on spy vids or caper stories, the Breen, Khans, whatever, appeared to think I'd love them. Because I think I've watched several thousand variations on how to follow a chain of evidence in the last few months." Almost launched into a criticism of some of the works, but stopped herself.

"Now, I need a wig and some platform boots." She looked herself over, "And a really swishy cape. You can be my flunky."


	54. Eva Hebron's POV

Thil kept bugging her to look at the program he was using with Shor to analyze information about ships coming in and out of the port that their Aunt Harry was sending back. Something to do with while Changelings didn't need ships, humans really did.

She wanted to scream at him. He was so happy, but that was just Thil. She shouldn't take out feeling like a plugged up bottle on him. She shouldn't.

She left before she exploded.

Anyway, every moment she was looking at what they were doing  was a minute someone wasn't watching Connor's grandfather to make sure he didn't wake up from the sedatives her mom had him on.

Her mom said she didn't need to, but Eva felt itchy under her skin. Worried. So she went back.   

Grendel wasn't on the bed. The ropes were shredded. He couldn't have come down the hall, they'd have seen him. She looked out the window. 

The old man was climbing up the exterior wall of his ridiculously large house. She had no idea why he was going up. It didn't matter. He needed to be stopped before he alerted anyone.

Eva didn't even really think before she fired Thil's grappling gun. The thing wrapped around Grendel's legs. The whiplash yanking him off the wall and for a moment, he seemed to hang in space. She tried to brace backwards, but he was too heavy. She didn't have enough mass or leverage or whatever. Moments later she was falling after him.

The old man twisted in the air. Reaching up to catch her. For a moment, they hung suspended. Not a mental trick, but actually hanging there. She could tell because Grendel kept falling and she floated down to where he was gasping for breath. The air driven from his lungs. 

She looked up and spotted Trelane crouched behind a shub dressed as if he were going on safari. He held his index finger up to his lips and whispered. "I'm not here. Nothing happened," and disappeared.

She was in such shock over that nothing, she didn't think to use the rope to tie Grendel up. She was still gaping when he stood up. Three feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier.

"Were you trying to kill me or save me?" she asked, rubbed her arm still aching from the snap of the grappling hook. 

"You're a child, of course I couldn't let you die," said Grendel as if that was an answer. As if his alpha scent, comforting and strong wasn't a lie. He wasn't comforting.

"There were kids in San Francisco."

"There were children here, murdered by your Federation. By the Betas who always," 

Eva screamed at the top of her lungs. For a long moment it was just an inarticulate howl as she felt the plug that had been bottling up all the rage she'd felt since Mom had told her about her dad melt. Like wax.

Grendel stared at her startled, as she hit him once. Twice in the chest. "My father was a Beta Human and the Dominion killed him." He grabbed at her wrists, but she twisted. Wasn't going to be held. Not by someone with a lying scent. "He told bad jokes." A kick. Hot tears were streaming down her face. "Built me a princess pavillion when I stayed over." Another blow. "Loved jazz." More blows. "Loved me." She kept going. Little things that she'd never see again. Hear again. Until her head ached. Her eyes ached.

All the rage blowing through her, blew out. Leaving her in a storm of tears. Grendel awkwardly placed his hands on her shoulders. She collapsed into him. He carried her back inside. 

Said something to her mom, who must have come back. Mom was pointing a phaser at him. Eva was too tired. Too empty to listen. To care. She lay listless in an empty bedroom. Not really sleeping. Until Shor came in. He laid down with her. She nuzzled into him and slept. When she woke, it was to see Sestre looking solemnly down at her.

He said, "We have guests." He didn't seem upset. If anything, he seemed kind of pleased. Serious, but pleased.

Eva followed him. Connor's mom was there. Holding hands with a kind of familiar alpha..

There was also a Breen with their helmet off. A Human face clear to see above the armor. An omega's scent clear enough too. They were looking at Grendel, who wouldn't look up. The omega said, "I would be interested in learning what you discovered."

"Who is that?" whispered Eva. If a bit more loudly than she'd intended.

She didn't expect the omega to turn and answer. "I am someone who doesn't want to leave only scorched earth." They glanced at Grendel. "You don't need to be concerned about Grendel. I think you will find that he will no longer try to alert the authorities." 

They smiled brightly. 


	55. John's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes a deep breath. Here we go.

John did one more thing before he left the the Hippocrates to Stamford's steady care. He gave him a message to relay once they reached the next battle. Also, an instruction, "Best not to let them know I'm not the ship, yeah."

He had Hudson relay a message to Billy. 

Placing all bets on all squares. 

It was a gamble what he was about to do.

John always had been a gambler.

He also had a choice. 

He could head for Breen. The old one. He didn't think they'd go there. The scene of a tragedy. Loss. Howling cold to boot.

He could head for the new one. Beta Aurigae. Probably had some stupid palace there under a force shield.

But people followed patterns. Did the same thing over and over. He was inclined to follow a different thread. If history lessons were to be believed, the Khans had grown up in an environment where they hadn't had control of single gram of control. Not their lives. Not their bodies. The choice to kill or not. Not even given names, which they'd given themselves. Control. Held power for a mere decade, and had to leave the planet with the tunics on their backs. Figurative tails between their legs.

Well, had to, that had been a choice. Any number of the Khans had gone down fighting. Killed a lot of people doing it.

So, if he had to guess where they'd gone, plans going to shite, it would be a place where they could exert the greatest control over their environment. Sherlock would have observed something. Found a clue. Known where to go from that.

John pointed his dinky little ship and got going on a hunch.

He went right into orbit around the ice moon of Ferenginar. Suited up and beamed to the Mare of Acquisition. He walked up to the smallest entrance. The one used for maintenance. He sent a message in what most people probably thought was a dead language from another quadrant of the galaxy. 

Another gamble.

Was more than a little relieved when a young Auberj of about twelve, not a single blue or red lesion on their skin, looked out the window. Had not a trace of the disease that the Dominion had designed to slowly kill their species.

"Hello," he said through the com, and waved at the thick glass. "Want to let me in?" The boy retreated. In a moment, the airlock opened to let him in. He came inside. Took off his helmet where he was surrounded a few dozen kids. All about the same age, but then they would be. The last generation born to the Auberj. Before, hopefully, the next generation.

He said, "Hello. Again." After a moment's thought, he said, "You won't get in trouble for letting me in will you?"

The boy who had looked out through window didn't look that concerned.  "No. The old people don't mind if we go in or out." 

Another boy said, good deal more bitterly. "They keep acting like we shouldn't care that they are working with the people who tried to kill all of us. The holograms of our parents told us all about the Dominion. All about our world and what the Dominion did to it. The Dominion don't get to win in this quadrant. They just don't."

A girl added, quickly, "No. They think that's just how it is. That they're next." She scrubbed a foot on the ground. "That maybe they should have gone out in a blaze of glory in the long time ago."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Kyrtl, you spend too much time listening to them."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "We all talked about this and we agreed."

"Are there…" John hesitated to ask because it was a bit off mission, but he had to ask, "Are there more of you? I could swear we rescued more of you."

The first boy looked offended, "It's a school day. We have school. We had to get permission to come. It had to be us kids because there's no holo emitters out here." 

"Oh," said John more than a bit relieved. 

"We can get you into the simulation, but once inside, its designed to notice anything that doesn't belong." Kyrtl scratched the side of a freckled, lesion free, nose. 

"Just as well. I want to be noticed." He handed Kyrtl his pack. "If you could hold onto this. Maybe bring it to me when you get the signal."

"What's the signal?" asked the boy.

"When the people who built this place show up." Thinking about that, he said, "I'll signal you."

He followed them to their quaint little simulated village. After that, a hologram arrested him. He said, "Best if you take me to your leaders."

It led him through a forest of about three of the same tree repeated over and over. Sherlock had mentioned he'd had to steal some memory to store simulations of the Auberj adults, who would have died of the disease long ago.

John went over a river up through some gardens and to a palace on a cliff. Which he had to admit told him a good deal about where Sherlock had gotten idea of a Memory Palace. 

Holo light took him through opulent hallways. There were silk divans and a hall of mirrors and John knew not a single thing there that hadn't been generated by holo emitter. It was all too perfect. No flaws. Everything the same. Over and over.

Finally, he came to an eerily familiar throne room. But he was not in a mirror universe getting fucked by not-Sherlock, so that was a plus. Also, there were significant differences.

Britannus looked exactly like Sherlock would in forty or so years. If wearing a good deal more velvet. More medieval Byzantine than renaissance, he was happy to see. 

Whatever those scientists had done had certainly slowed down the aging process. They were all still stunning looking. Noonian and Meiying were sitting on thrones next to Brittanus. Noonian in Sikh attire from the time of the Raj, down to the turban. Meiying in some sort of skin tight black leather outfit that looked glued on.

The last time he'd seen them in person, they'd been younger. Hair not gone to silver. Less worn at the edges.  

But years did that.

They were alone. No crowd. No court. Just three people on three thrones all by themselves.

"Fuck you," were not the words John had imagined saying. Planned on saying, but it turned out John was more than a little angry.

A faint smile creased Noonian's face, "I see why our son loves you."

"Fuck that you know about Sherlock. Sherlock is a free fucking being," said John stomping into the room. "You had no right to kidnap him. Let him go."

"I have every right," said Brittanus leaning back. "He amply demonstrated a complete disregard for his own safety. Just as Moriarty has amply demonstrated an obsession with Sherlock. That's not even getting into the other Changelings. Vorta. Those Cardassians still willing to deal with the Dominion. Sherlock is personally responsible for negating multiple technological advantages. The only reason he was not assassinated was because we intervened."

"Multiple times," said Meiying.

"However," said Noonian, "as you may have noticed Moriarty is not precisely sane. This was our compromise with the other Changelings keeping Moriarty in check. Sherlock off the board. Safe and secure in cryogenic sleep until the end of the war. One way or the other, this war must come to an end soon. Here we can keep Sherlock safe."

"Yeah, how'd that work with Euros," said John.

Which scored points, felt good to see Noonian wince, but didn't help him a bit. He needed them all on board. 

He needed them to be the Khans who'd given up their toys rather than go down fighting. Although, not taking a runner would also be good.

"You bring up another reason we had to intervene. He takes far too many risks in battle," said Brittanus. "I've analyzed every battle. The brain damage Euros gave affected his mind's ability to judge risks. His emotions have always been too exposed. It's simply too dangerous to have him at large. Not with the war at such a dangerous stage."

"A completely over extended stage of the war," said Noonian wryly. 

"Our alliance with the Dominion brings with it millenium of biological expertise," said Brittanus in a sharp tone. Sore point there. 

"Not that I've seen." Meiying looked like she'd eaten a lemon. "The Dominion expertise hasn't helped them fix whatever sickness has infected their Great Link. All we've been given are promises in exchange for risking everything. Left with the choice of the scylla or the charybdis."

"Which is why I've taken care to secure what they want," said Brittanus. Words tumbling out a little too quick. "What Moriarty wants. This can still work."

"Trouble in paradise," said John, coming bit closer. One step up on the way to the thrones.

"No," said Brittanus.

"Always," said Meiying with more lemon tone.

Noonian sighed. "Negotiating with a scorpion is pointless. I weary of it. Of war."

"If you're tired of fighting, then maybe you shouldn't bomb civilian targets," said John, fists curling. 

Noonian tilted his head slightly. The carefully folded brocade fabric of his green and gold turban catching the light and shadow.  "The firebombing of Dresden. Tokyo. Nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima. Nagasaki. Intended to demoralize an adversary into surrender. Into shortening the war."

"Ancient history." John came a little closer. Getting his read on his audience. 

"The first nuclear bombs were dropped the same year the USSR started the program that created us all." Noonian rested his hands on his knees. 

"I was trained, honed and sharpened by veterans of the Vietnam War." Meiying crossed her leather clad legs looking like nothing so much as a weapon. "I can't tell you how many of them told me about using Agent Orange on people who looked just like me." She examined her nails. Probably imaging the blood of long dead soldiers under them. "Is it strange that we are what we were meant to be?" 

"Ancient history," repeated John. Keeping hold of his temper, because shouting wasn't going to serve just then, but it was a near thing.

"Enough," Brittanus said calmly. Cooly. The sort of cool that covered boiling water, John knew that look. "I fail to see why you've come here. You abandoned our son the first opportunity you had for advancement."

"Oh, fuck off," which fine that did come out in a shout. "I didn't leave him. I went to war. The war you are fighting on the wrong side of history on." He pointed at Noonian, who'd opened his mouth, "And do not give me a lecture on the history of war. I went to a military academy. I was a soldier. I am familiar with any number of books on strategy. I'm good." He looked at the three of them. "Did you honestly think I wasn't going to come for him."

None of them did anything so helpful as darting their eyes to the hidden location of one missing husband. Just stared at him like three Egyptian statues. 

"Mycroft said you would. I did not… you hurt Sherlock." Brittanus glared and if those eyes were lasers, John would be dead.

"Given how the three of you fucking failed as parents, what the fuck are you talking about?" 

"He spoke to me after he lost the children." Brittanus' jaw worked. "He lay in coma that I had to induce to keep him from hurting himself as he tried to return to the past, he was so desperate reach his children, while the version of him that had not yet made the journey contacted me. There was much he told me and much I could read between what he did not say of your history together. As if I could not see the marks on your neck the first surveillance image that was taken of you."

"What he'd been doing with you when we tried to rescue him from the Borg was more than obvious," said Meiying with an arched brow.

"And what did you do when you left our care," continued Brittanus, "knowing how Sherlock felt, but discard what he most longed for. What would have soothed him."

"Look you emotionally constipated twit," that certainly felt good to say, "that's got nothing the fuck to do with you. All that is between Sherlock and me. We're good. We're fine. More than fine. We survive this war, we'll figure things out. Not that what we do or don't do is any of your business." John wasn't going to think about their failed tries. He wasn't.

Brittanus stilled. "Neither miscarriages, nor aborted."

"No," said Noonian standing up. "It's written all over him. He did something else." He came down from his throne. About time. "What did you do?"

Brittanus adjusted controls on a device on their wrist. "The scans are the same as when you returned from the past."  They tapped their knee thoughtfully.

Meiying stood up and slunk over to John. It looked like holding up her long silver hair with a small mace.The metal balls swung as she moved. "What did you do?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but," John rocked on his feet, because he had them where he wanted them, let his cadences smooth. Roll right off his tongue. "When I was in my last year at the academy and Sherlock and I were really reproductively successful, I invented something that combined transporter technology with holo statis cubes. Not that there would be anything wrong with my choosing to have an abortion if I had." He could feel it. He had a captivated audience. He just needed to hold them right there.

"Storing brain waves isn't a problem," said Noonian.

"No brain waves if at an early enough point in development," said Brittanus. "How many cubes?" They moved to John's other side, leaving him surrounded. "How many?"

John was a theater brat. He knew how to draw a finish out. Also, he was standing alone flapping in the wind waiting for the third act to show up. "Let Sherlock go, and I'll tell you."

"Tell us, and we'll consider it."

John smiled slowly. The way a great big red and gold dragon might smile when talking about its treasure horde. "I'll need a tablet."

Brittanus gave him a disbelieving look.

John shifted his expression. Just a wee little omega, which since Brittanus was a big tall omega wasn't cutting much, but still he raised his big baby blues and blinked. "There's been a lot of them. If you want to know, then I need a tablet."

Brittanus snapped their fingers and a hologram brough John a tablet to write on. It was a good deal harder than just giving a number, but more satisfying. Certainly took longer. Time. He needed time.

"Space Hippies?" asked Brittanus looking over his shoulder.

"Total arseholes. They dosed us with something."

"Parallel Rome?" asked Meiying.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised at how much parallel evolution there is."

It was disturbing that Brittanus was looking at him fondly now. Which how nice for them. John was not feeling particularly fond. "Nature or nurture, possibly evil?"

"Sherlock's notes. Yeah, I don't know if you want me to count that one. Sherlock's progeny with an alternative me from a mirror dimension where other versions of you took over the Federation. You fucked the universe up the arse but good. Wars. Genocide." Thought about laying it all out. "Oh, and Mshindi Victorius, in the universe where he survives, he grows up to murder you. Congrats. You raised a sociopath. As I understand it, he decapitated you." He pushed Brittanus back with a single finger. "So give me some space. I've seen what shite comes of the world you create." 

Brittanus stepped back. Eyed him. Consideringly. "Let's include that one."

Noonian pressed a hand to a broach on his tunic. "Our son would never do such a thing."

"You mean injure Sherlock's pet sehlat because he wasn't paying enough attention to him. A pet that he knew you," he pushed Brittanus back further, "would force him to kill in some sort of… honestly. Were you raised in a..."

"Laboratory. Barracks. By scientists and soldiers. Competed with other creches to kill our targets so that we would survive the next culling. Until my time to breed came and I was used in other ways," Brittanus lips pulled back in a fierce smile. "Yes."

"Nature. Nurture," said Noonian softly. "Even if what you say is true, I could wish that he lived. That none were left behind."

John felt a bit of a pang. "It's hard when you lose a kid." He puffed out a breath. "I lost a year and gained a species. Though if it helps," because he needed to get things back on track, "according to the me in the other universe, our kids, which I shudder to think I could have grandkids at my age, appear to be the secret sauce to curing the Breen's reproductive problems. Venereally, which the less I have to think about the better." John let that hang for a bit. Drove the hook in deeper.

Went back to listing his various cubes.

Finally, he reached the Breen stone age. Started slow maths.

Brittanus got there quicker. But he made them wait until he did the numbers. John scrubbed his face, because, he needed just a bit more time if his message had gotten through. If anyone was coming. "Now. Let me make sure I got everyone."

Nothing. Nothing. He had them all listed.

A smile spread slowly across Brittanus' face. "That is why my son is so drawn to you. At an instinctual level triggered by pheremones, he knows that you're extremely compatible." Their smile grew predatory. "Of course, if you're seeking to hold your genetics as a bargaining chip, you should know we could use your twin's DNA to create a similar result."

"Uh," John's mind went white. Then red. Then all sort of hazy and Brittanus was standing there rubbing faintly at their jaw from where John had hit them. John said, "That's for making our Mum think Harry was dead for a year," antother blow, "And that's for me," one more, not that he was making a dent on Brittanus, "And that's for Harry, which I should think even you would get why that was a shite thing to do."

"Shite. But necessary to avoid discovery," said Brittanus. "What do you want in exchange for the cubes? If you intended to use them before now, you would have. As you've said, they are the key to saving a race from extinction. Your own descendants." 

"Yeah, about that," said John, who about shouted when the entire building wavered. Reshaped. The floor changing under their feet. The walls. The ceiling lifting out of Rococo nightmare into the clean lines of the temple of the ancestors on Breen. 

Full of, appropriately enough, several hundred Breen wearing some pretty nifty party clothes. Not just Breen. Lucy and Eva. Chin Singh, Billy, and Connor. Sestre. Thil and Shor. 

And Harry, who he was busy hugging through the first of the reactions to the change in environment.

Chin said, "Mother, the Dominion betrayed us. They deliberately infected our people."

"The cylla or the charybdis," said Meiying, whatever that meant.

"We have all sorts of proof," said Connor. He crossed his arms. "If you'd looked at all, you'd have found it too. But you decided that just because some Betas hurt you once that all Betas deserved to be hurt. And before you tell me I don't know anything," he raised his chin, somehow transformed over the last three years into practically an adult, yet still so young, "I survived Colonel Green's scientists. I was experimented on. I had friends die. But I didn't decide every Beta is like the ones who hurt me. Get over yourselves." 

Billy put his arm around Connor's shoulders. "What he said."

"Fuckers," muttered Harry. John let go. He really did need to get with the next bit of negotiation.

"We have been convinced that the Federation had nothing to do with the attack. Are not a threat to us," said Veema looking a good deal more relaxed in a robe, which told him a lot about just how secure the environment he'd just waltzed into was. 

"Two suspects," said Brittanus. They held up one hand. "The scylla. The monster in the cliffs. The Federation, founded by the Betas who created us. The same Federation that had me creating weapons of war as soon as they found me. Were willing to hold my people's lives as a bargaining chip. Are certainly willing to use a biological weapon to kill the Changelings now." They held up the other hand. "The charybdis. The monster at the bottom of the sea. The Dominion, a race willing to annihilate entire species to prove a point. Sherlock's warning of leaving the Auberj here was well meant, but ultimately left us with few options once they approached us for an alliance." They pointed at Veema. "You may go about in armor, but our children of Earth don't."

Veema said, "There's a term that this scholar of Terra has been explaining to me," she nodded at Lucy, "Hubris. Do not think we are not aware that you negotiated control of Earth from the Dominion for the 23rd Alignment. How is it you say, "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven."

"I always prefered Frankenstein," said Brittanus, their eyes narrowed. Considering.

"Yeah, I think we may have picked up on that one," said Harry.

Lucy whispered something to Veema and said, "I may have filled in a bit more context about the events of the twenty-first century," said Lucy. "The twenty-third. The Breen have kind of a skewed idea about Federation history given how far away they are from us. How long it took to travel back in the day. Really, it's tragic that there's an entire confederation of Augments that we know nothing about. Who know next to nothing about their own history or have the right frame of reference to understand it."

"What does it gain us if we gain the world, and lose ourselves entirely," said Veema. She turned. "John Watson, the 1st Alignment has received your offer of truce and is more than willing to accept your offer of your kinder for foster in acknowledgement of the bonds between us and the Federation." 

Other leaders of Alignments chimed in.

John was sort of tuning out by the time they got to Terellhoo of the 22nd Alignment, who gave a bit of a rambly speech.

"And the 23rd Alignment," said Brittanus. Finally looking as if how badly they'd fucked up was sinking in. 

One leader of many. Tired. Actually old even. 

"You had your chance," said John. At Brittanus' expression, so like Sherlock, and thought of his own father. Thought how much it would have meant if he could have lived. John sighed. "You've been complete and utter dicks, but Sherlock and I have been trying. Back off. Don't step on your own dicks and I may," he held up a finger, "may agree to let you have a visit with whatever comes of trying. Because I can already tell you that my terms were you're not going to get that offer from the other Alignments. But that can't happen if you don't let Sherlock go. Fuck the Dominion. Fuck Moriarty. Whatever disease they've got cooked up. We'll deal with it."

Brittanus stared at him.

"Seriously. Work it out peacefully. Stop blowing shite up. Don't be a dick."

"I am not feeling as kind as John," added Chin, which fine. That was Chin's call. For whatever reason, Chin's parents looked pleased at being cut out of the family. Which was beyond John to figure out just then.

Brittanus turned to the other Khans. 

Noonian said, "I cannot say I particularly wished to aid a scorpion."

"Who can still sting," said Brittanus. 

Meiying said, "Brit, you were the only one of us to prepare for the fall of the Khanates. Have you grown so inflexible."

Brittanus suddenly smiled, looking for a moment just like Sherlock down to that well loved curve of his lips. "Very well."

"Oh, thank God," said John, because even without the rest of the Breen, he had studied how much damage just Brittanus had caused a century ago. How long it had taken everyone to take down the Khans who'd stayed behind. A wounded tiger was still a tiger. 

Veema cleared her throat.

"Oh, yeah. Uh." He tapped his communicator. "Hey, kids. The people who built this place showed up. That's why the architecture is a little different."

The Auberj children came into the temple. Kyrtl holding the well worn box in her hands.

Brittanus said, "Since we are not needed at this ceremony, I will leave. I must go apologize to my eldest, and free Sherlock from cryogenics."

Kyrtl handed John the box. He put it down in the middle of the archway that if it were real could open portals in time. Sat next to it cross legged. "We should probably wait for the other half of this deal to show up."

An infinite amount of time later, Sherlock glared his way into the room, followed by Brittanus speaking quietly to Mycroft.

Sherlock flung himself at John.

John started to say, "I'm trading,"

"I know I have eyes. It's fine. It's all fine," said Sherlock into his neck.

But it was hard to really believe it.

Sort of sank in as they doled the cubes out. Bickering a bit over each one. Trying to keep things even. Parts of themselves put on hold for such a long time. Not really all that many when divided twenty-two ways all told. But the Breen seemed happy with the deal.

Really sank in as they flew back on Chin's ship to Federation space. As word came back from the Bakerstreet that the Breen had withdrawn from their alliance with the Dominion.

Some Breen even opening fire on the Dominion as they attacked civilian targets on Cardassia. John said to Sherlock, "Looks like someone really wants some grandkids."  

Within weeks, the Battle of Cardassia was over. Casualties were still high, but the Dominion war was over.

A new Cardassian government formed. Some twist arse looking Changeling offered to withdraw from the Gamma quadrant in exchange for a cure to the disease currently killing them. 

That the Federation really did have the cure kind of said some things John didn't want to think about. 

Maybe later.

He'd think about them later.

For now, he was home.


	56. Mycroft's POV

"What do you mean?" raged Moriarty. Surface oozing and contracting.

"I think you understand my meaning very well," said Mother balancing the vial of the cure affecting Moriarty and the other Changelings on one finger. "An operative, at great personal cost, infiltrated Section 31 and obtained the cure to your disease, which is mine to give or withhold."

"I can still reverse engineer a cure for the retro-virus." Moriarty gritted teeth from a dozen mouths.

Mother slid their gaze over Moriarty. "You cannot even cure yourself. Yet you refused to retreat to the Gamma Quadrant and be cured when given the choice." They threw the vial up in the air. 

Moriarty lurched forward. Mycroft shot him. In the back, if he could be said to have such a thing. Splattering bits of him everywhere. "That was for infecting our people," said Mycroft. He fired again. "That was trying to kill Sherlock in the Gamma Quadrant. Multiple times." He fired a few more times. He had a bit of a list. Finally, he looked at his mother. "Thank you for letting me be the one to shoot him."

"It was the least I could do given all you've done. I..." Mummy shook their head. "I should have trusted your judgement." Placed the vial in a pocket. A trap for any stray Changelings.

Mycroft hostered the phaser. "Mother, that's all I've ever wanted."

Mother smiled, "Mycroft, why do you assume that when I say you're the first person I ever had reason to trust that I don't mean you? The person standing here right now." On that remark, they linked their arm in his. "Now I understand you met Ambassador Spock. Tell me how that went."


	57. Thil's POV

Grounded forever and ever and ever. 

"It won't really be forever," said Shor.

"Feels like it," said Thil, who was still miffed he hadn't gotten to use his own grappling hook. "And we don't even get to go back to the Bakerstreet. To see our friends."

Papa Shroleb said, "Thil, don't you want to look out the window?"

Thil sighed and looked out the window. "Oh!" Utopia Planitia was huge. Brilliantly illuminated structures outlined in the vastness of space.

"You're grounded," said Shrilaas. 

"Grounded. Grounded," chanted Keraass.

But it was so beautiful even his sisters couldn't bother him.

Papa Ishros said, "You're not going to be allowed in the actual shipyards. We're living in the base housing. That's all."

Thil stared at out the window, entranced.

"This may be a mistake," said Papa Shroleb.

Mama Khel didn't look up from the architectural drawings. Mama Bihr had said she could have a free hand to make the station more livable.

Thil began to calculate what he could do to get his grounding lifted. Chores. Grades. Whatever it took. 

This was going to be amazing.


	58. Eva's POV

"How are you doing, honey?" asked her Mom.

Eva shrugged. Everything felt like kind of flat. After a prolonged discussion, her mom had decided that grounding was a bit beside the point. That if she wanted to talk about her dad, or anything, she should.

Eva unpacked her things. An old yarn doll she was too old to play with. An old battered picture book. She traced her dad's "I love you, ladybug," in the back. He'd given it to her a few years ago, having found it in great-grandma's things after she died. Signatures from four generations of Washingtons were in this book. She read rhythmic rhyming words about all the places she would go. Closed it and put it on her shelf.

They weren't heading back to the Bakerstreet. Eva had lived her whole life on that ship. Eva wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. She'd never stay in her dad's quarters ever again. No more princess pavilions. Never tell him about her day. Never stop by his work station on her way home from class. A lot of nevers.

She looked around the apartment.

All her life, her mom had been in Starfleet. Had worn a uniform most days.

"I know it'll be an adjustment," said Mom had said, "but I don't think Starfleet is the place for me anymore. When all is said and done, it's a military organization. I think I want to try something a bit more life focused for awhile."

Admittedly, the decision not to go home to the Federation at all was… kind of right. 

Veema, that important Breen lady, had gotten to talking to Mom, and offered her a chance to teach Terran Augment History, Botany, or Biology at the largest university on Beta Aurigae. Whichever she liked. 

As if her mom couldn't have her pick of research institutions all over the Federation.

But her mom had decided to stay. A least for a little while.

They were going to start with a class on history and go from there.

Eva looked out at the street with all the people in the armored shells. "Can you believe that lots of them live all the time in that armor of theirs. Don't they realize how important scent and touch is to Augments?"

"Guess, we'll have to tell them." Her mom kissed the top of her head. "Come on. I'm picking books for the syllabus." Eva sat next to her mom and looked through the first round picks. Leaned into her scent. Side. Warmth. 


	59. Connor's POV

His mum was happy. Really happy. Focused. Relaxed. That made Connor happy. 

Mum and Chin had been busy for the last few months. 

At first it had been for pretty obvious reasons. The Federation wanted every Breen mining facility in Federation space closed, but some of them were actual mining facilities, which meant a lot of travel and organizing things. His mum was really good at that sort of thing. Connor had stayed with Ms. Hebron and Eva. 

They'd moved out of Grandfather's house also for some fairly obvious reasons into the Blue District where a few of the Breen Alignments lived. But Chin had found them all a place to stay. A new home. Together. Connor looked out the window at the ocean washing on the long white curve of the shore. Nothing like any place he'd ever lived.

Grandfather had sent a few messages requesting they meet. Connor figured he'd answer when he wasn't feeling so bruised over everything. He kind of missed talking to his grandfather.

When things were more settled, he'd think about it.

In the meantime, he'd met a lot of teens in his new school. They wore armor all the time. When he'd told Kvaila of the 1st that his mum was going to try to have a baby with Chin, she'd actually taken off her helmet and asked if he were serious. She couldn't understand how his mum had finished the parenting classes so fast. Turned out, to raise a kid among the Breen, because it was all so restricted, it took having the equivalent of an Associate's Degree. And the kid was almost never directly related to the parents, because the people who contributed the genetics hadn't necessarily passed the right classes. Kvaila gave him a whole lecture about genetic greed.

When he'd repeated that to his mum, his mum had said, "But the Khans are terrible parents. The 23rd Alignment is made of terrible parents."

Chin coughed. "Mummy and the rest um… they refuse to take the classes. It's why the Breen haven't been willing to um... foster their kids with us." She paused. "Them. With them."

"But… the Breen are fine with kidnapping people." Connor tried to wrap his mind around the idea.

Chin blushed. "They're, we're a bit complicated. We didn't really… the 23rd kept ourselves separate, which was a mistake." Chin had been talking with Veema, about changing Alignments. Maybe just being an engineer. Chin was a pretty good engineer. His Mum was thinking of going to school. Not back to school. He'd never been.

Mycroft had come by several times to act as an intermediary for their parents. Connor didn't quite see why Captain Holmes, Sherlock, thought he was so annoying. 

Chin said, "He's not… Mycroft thinks he knows what's best for everyone, which can be difficult." Connor shrugged. Withholding judgement. 

His Mum said, "Connor, you should know if we do have a baby, it won't mean I'll love you less." 

Which was silly. "Mum, I'm almost seventeen. I'll be going to university next year. We're going to be classmates."

Mum got a little misty eyed. "Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Connor looked back out at the sea spreading out to the horizon. That would turn black under the night sky when the sun set. "No." He wrapped his arm around his mum's waist. Breathed in his comforting scent. "But I'm glad we did."


	60. Sestre's POV

Sestre watched as his father attempted to manipulate the anti-grav chair. Wobbling too high and then too low. The stabilizers not operating with peak efficiency. 

"The way this is designed is not logical," said his father.

Sestre had no information for comparison. He was still calculating all the changes they would need to make. Both Sestre's older brother and sister lived in New Gol. His neice. They had made polite inquiries. Were willing to assist Sestre find a ground floor apartment. Something with access to public transit. Given the break in his studies, it would be best to delay attempting entry to a university of higher learning until the next year. His father would undergo a significant learning curve. Considerable adjustment. 

Sestre had done considerable research. It was probable his father would undergo a sense of loss at what he had lost.

"I have been thinking," said his father.

Sestre waited patiently. 

"You must go to university. There is no need for you to stay here with me. Delaying your education will delay your opportunities."

"Father, I expect to live to be two hundred. Delay is an inevitable part of life."

Who would have won this argument, was itself delayed by a communication from Julian on the Bakerstreet. It was an offer for his father to complete his physical therapy on the Bakerstreet, and another suggestion.

Sestre asked his father, "What do you think?"

"I think holographic limbs are… an intriguing idea,"

Sestre did not ask if he should accompany his father. He could complete his studies on the Bakerstreet. University could wait a year. Or two. 

There was time.


	61. Violet Hunter's POV

The portable emitter winked out as Julian began the transfer back to the Bakerstreet.

She'd gotten her transfer orders to another ship. Not the Bakerstreet. The Reliant. 

Bigger Ship.

Second Officer. 

Scientific focus. 

No Julian. 

For the next six months, tops she promised herself. Captain Holmes had promised to figure out a way to compress Julian's memory into something smaller than a very large closet. Maybe figure out some sort of longer memory display option.

Something.

They would figure this out.


	62. Ji-Yoo Cho's POV

Ji-Yoo accepted her commendation for putting up with Captain Lord for two years, and was more than happy to be get transfer orders to another ship. Not the Bakerstreet. That was pretty much done, it would be hard to top the Bakerstreet for adventure, but it would be hard to top the Enterprise for prestige. 

Bigger Ship.

Scientific focus. 

She could get back to exploring. Seeking out new things. That sort of stuff.


	63. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally rejected her reassignment. Hudson told her, "I'm not sure it's entirely optional."

Sally gave her a look. "You getting reassigned?"

"Of course not, dear."

"Well, fix it."

Hudson fixed it.


	64. Harry Watson's POV

Some Admiral friend of John's pulled some strings and while Harry wasn't sure if she deserved it, Harry was a free woman.

Her mum hugged the ever living daylights out of her.

When Harry felt brave enough. Raw enough. She re-typed up a draft of the play she'd written in her incarceration courtesy of the Khans.

Her mom looked at the title. Lady of the Thorns. 

"I didn't give it to you to just look at the title."

Mum read through it. Chuckling and sighing at various spots.

"Well?"

"It's beautiful, but," her mum grinned, "I think we need punch up the end of the third act just a bit. Really make the audience cry." 


	65. John's POV

Lestrade contacted John with a message that under the circumstances, he'd withheld accepting John's resignation, but John told him, his hand wrapped in Sherlock's, that he was fine retiring as a Captain.

John was exactly where he wanted to be.

He and Sherlock and had a good talk about Augment reproduction. In an interplanetary politics sense. Lying there, in their bed in the dark. "The Breen have the same problem that I have," said John. "They fucked themselves up with technology and made themselves a biological dead end and couldn't reverse time to take it back."

Sherlock sat up. Hair sticking out in all directions. "That's it John."

"What?" John reluctantly sat up too. "We're not planning on time travel, because,"

"No, don't be stupid. But, we can reverse the age of your cells. After the first time you regressed in age, I've began to save copies of your transporter scans just in case." Because of course he had. "If we want to have children, we can simply restore you to an earlier age. If," Sherlock paused, vulnerable and soft, "that's something you still want."

John answered with a kiss. A simple, "Yes."


	66. Moriarty's POV

Idiots.

Fools.

Solids.

The very virus destabilizing him had increased his resilience to disintegration. As he'd just discovered. He didn't laugh as he gathered the pieces of himself and slid away to craft his revenge. 

He'd save the laughter for when he was oozing over his enemies smoldering corpses. In the meantime, he'd have to see if Killander was where he'd left him like a good dog. 

If Moriarty couldn't figure out how stabilize himself, he'd need someone to carry his bucket.


	67. Trelane's POV

"Trelane, you can go out now if you'd like," said his Mother.

"I prefer Trelane," said Trelane absently. Stopped. "You called me Trelane." 

"I discussed it with your Father and if that's how you want to express your individuality, we've decided that we should respect that. But you have to respect the integrity of reality. It's very important to it. And fragile." 

Trelane did and didn't want to leave now. 

But really, he should take a little time off before the really tragic part.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, and so the uber plot is wrapped up, as you may be able to tell from the sheer number of minor characters' arcs getting wrapped up and sent off to happy endings.
> 
> There are 3 more stories to wrap up a number of other dangling threads.


End file.
